


My Immortal

by elisi



Series: My Immortal [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Buffy/Jack is the OTP you never knew you were missing, Captain Jack IS The Immortal, Character Study, Crossover, F/M, filling in all the blanks, seriously they are perfect for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-12-24 03:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 82,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21093017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi
Summary: Captain Jack Harkness IS The Immortal.Andrew: Turns out Buffy fell for The Immortal on her own, and—and now she's happy. That's it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this all began a long time ago, on a livejournal far away...
> 
> [Scarlettgirl had an epiphany](https://scarlettgirl.livejournal.com/263805.html), and since no one else had written it (as far as I could tell)… I ended up doing it! Because it really was way too perfect an idea.
> 
> It took me several years to write (2008 - 2012) and is basically a novel-length crossover extravaganza about Captain Jack Harkness being 'The Immortal' from 'The Girl in Question' (AtS 5.20) and what he did with the alias. It spans several stories, coming in at over 100k words in total, and I have been meaning to upload it here for a while. I will post chapters weekly. (Saturdays, generally.)
> 
> Most of the timelines from the different canons fit together pretty neatly, but there is one major inconsistency as well as the problem of how and why Jack chose to become 'The Immortal'. This first chapter attempts to weave all these things together in a way I hope you think works (behold, I can create plot out of nothing! *g*), before delving into canon events.
> 
> The main story will focus on Buffy/Jack and how they were honestly perfect for each other at that point in time. However I will tackle ALL the canon, such as the enmity with Angelus (_so_ much fun!) and have done my best to thread the shows together so carefully that it's hard to see the gaps. :) 'All' the canon being Doctor Who (mostly up to and including S3), Torchwood (S1 - 3) and Buffy & Angel (the TV shows, no comics here!).
> 
> I have been told that the story is fairly easy to follow, even if the reader is unfamiliar with one or other of the shows, and also that shippers of all stripes found Buffy/Jack (or Buffy/Immortal) easy to get behind, despite any other preferences. (Although I found a lovely little video about Jack if anyone's curious: [Capt Jack Harkness: Time Traveling, Immortal, Omnisexual Superhero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XmBEuyDwXDU).)
> 
> Banner made by the very talented **[Ruuger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuger/pseuds/Ruuger)**.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think. :)
> 
> (Yes I am aware of the *other* fic with this title. No, I don't care. I think both can happily co-exist, they overlap in exactly zero ways.)

_Angelus: This is our city. We were here first._  
_Immortal's servant: No, actually, he was. 300 years ago._

**Cardiff, 1870**

It was cold and wet and dark. Yesterday, today, tomorrow - always the same. And Jack thought it might be killing him.

If he closed his eyes he could still call forth his home - dusty and dry and bright. Could clearly remember the constant threat of sandstorms lurking in a hot blast across his face, the softness of the white-white-white desert fabric on his skin, the rich fruit juices his mother would prepare every morning... experiences as alien in this time as his wrist strap. 

But he had left his home. Had lived through things that should have killed him; had skipped across the universe like a pebble across a pond; had met people who had changed him more than he thought possible... until everything had stopped. 

Jack felt as though this place was now seeping into him - like hope and life was being smothered, day by day, inch by inch, by the low clouds that never seemed to lift. He had never felt so trapped in his life, not even when facing certain death. 

Jumping back through time 200,000 years and he’d only been out by a century. _One_. One hundred years, and it might as well have been a million.

He stared down into his drink - something these people referred to as ‘beer’ although it had the flavour and colour of dishwater - and slowly became aware of the noise and dirt and general unpleasantness of the drinking tavern he was in. Drowning his sorrows... that had been the plan. Except of course it didn’t work - it never worked - it just made him feel cold and miserable on a different level.

He could cope - had coped with far worse - but the relentlessness of it was getting to him. He remembered once coming across a cult that wanted to change humans back to what they had once been... He wished he could have shown them this place, where decay preyed on people with sickening results. For a moment he looked at the toothless old man next to him, bent and crooked and, judging from the rattling breath, suffering from something Jack couldn’t begin to guess at - he’d not paid much attention during their lecture on ‘ancient ailments’. After all it wasn’t like they didn’t get vaccinated against everything anyway. Infections on the other hand were something he was pretty terrified of - medicine in this era was so _primitive_. He tried his best not to shudder. Would he end up the same way in 50 - 60 years time? All withered gnarled and... _worn_? No, he’d commit suicide first. 

As often happened now his thoughts drifted back to his beautiful Chula ship, and again he felt like crying at the accidental destruction. It seemed a somehow more manageable loss than the Doctor, Rose and the TARDIS. The ship, the technology, the nanobots - all that he could mourn. The rest...

“Hey there handsome - what’s troubling ya?”

He looked up at the plump barmaid and sighed. He was hovering on the edge of spilling secrets that he knew he shouldn’t mention, but thankfully found that he was still sober enough to infuse truth with vagueness.

“I... lost the people I love. Or rather they lost me - left without me. It’s... it’s a long story.”

The girl looked like she was about to speak when the old man nodded solemnly.

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. But He comes for us all in the end.”

Jack turned to him, suddenly desperate. 

“Are you sure?”

The old man nodded, and Jack wished he could somehow latch onto that surety he saw in the red-rimmed eyes. He had a terrible feeling that he might live out his whole life in this sprawling grey town without ever being found.

**Rome, some years later**

It was evening, but still hot, and the setting sun made the whole sky blaze golden. Jack stood still for a moment and closed his eyes, letting warmth caress his skin. 

If he could, he’d bottle the sensation. He knew he was taking a risk in travelling away from the Rift, but on the other hand he didn’t want to throw his whole life away, waiting. Earth wouldn’t have been his first choice of planet to settle down on - not even the tenth - but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And the hunger for warmth and light had driven him further and further south, until here he was in this ancient city.

Having spent most of the day walking around St Peter’s his feet were sore, but his mind rather overwhelmed by the sheer beauty and magnitude of what he had seen. He had some basic, scattered knowledge of European history from his Time Agency training, but somehow he’d never actually set foot in Rome - he had never been sent there, and there had never been a scam that would benefit from this location. With hindsight his previous existence seemed very shallow; the ability to just admire something, without calculating its worth or how it could best be utilised, was one of the things he was most grateful to the Doctor for. And yet another thing he’d never told him. Hopefully one day he would be able to... 

But until then, he had to make do - which reminded him that he had no money left and finding somewhere to stay for the night might be problematic.

Suddenly he heard a loud exclamation, and turned to see a handsome, well-dressed young man running towards him.

“_Master_! It is really you! I cannot believe it - it is a miracle!”

Jack looked behind him, wondering what was happening, but the other made a beeline for him, before stopping at a respectful distance, face beaming. He had gorgeous brown eyes, Jack couldn’t help but notice, and the wide joyous grin on his face revealed dimples that made him look younger than his real age, which Jack estimated to be around 20. 

As he took in these factors, Jack automatically discarded the ‘You’ve got the wrong guy’ that was at the tip of his tongue. Couldn’t hurt to hear what the kid had to say, and besides he looked like he was about to faint or explode. Jack didn’t want to have either on his conscience.

“Oh Master - how could we ever have doubted? ‘_But how can anyone know the future?’_ my sister asks, but I tell her that The Immortal can do anything, of course. Three hundred years are nothing to someone who has eternity, even if we mortals have been waiting with trepidation and great elation.” 

He stopped to catch his breath, and, seeing the somewhat puzzled look on Jack’s face, tried to pull himself together.

“My apologies your Benevolence, I am afraid I let excitement get the better of me. A simple, unmarked carriage awaits just as you specified in your instructions.”

He pulled out an ancient-looking document and handed it over eagerly, and Jack opened it, feeling like he’d come in halfway through a play without knowing his lines. Ornate writing covered the paper, and slowly he began reading.

_‘I, The Immortal, make this document for the benefit of you, my dear servants of the future, and beseech you to follow my instructions to the very letter._

_I trust you will recognise my fair countenance anywhere, but be warned that I will come in disguise, dressed in simple clothing...’_

There followed notes on getting the house ready for occupation, which carriage to use and various other things, then the day’s date and to _‘look for me at sunset in St Peter’s Square’._

Jack raised an eyebrow, feeling a little spooked, but then the law of averages dictated that there had to be someone like him around - the kid had obviously just latched onto the one best fitting the description. Then he read on, and couldn’t help but chuckle as he took in the final paragraph:

_‘Make sure to send your handsomest boy to fetch me. I have every confidence that you will not disappoint me in any way._

_His Benevolence,  
The Immortal_

_Rome, 1596’_

Whoever this ‘Immortal’ guy was, he had clearly had his priorities in order. And he didn’t seem the type to begrudge a weary traveller taking a little advantage...

“Well then, ‘handsome boy’, shall we?”

The boy coloured very prettily, and Jack smiled. Someone up there _liked_ him. 

Trying to cover his shyness, the kid turned all practicality and business. “Master - please allow me to take your luggage. The carriage is down this way.”

“By all means, lead on. I am in your hands.”

As they walked a narrow side street, the boy introduced himself as ‘Antonio’:

“...Of the Esposito family, of _course_ \- we have been faithfully tending your residence for all these years, and know how blessed we all are to live in this time, so we may see you Master.”

Jack made what he hoped was an appropriate reply, but as they drove though the streets a little later he covertly tried to extract some crucial information about who he was supposed to be - a lifetime of having to adapt to new situations and new identities coming in helpful. And this one looked to be a challenge.

In a short while he had found out that in 1596 the man calling himself ‘The Immortal’ had disappeared on some round-the-world-trip, and very kindly left his servants with plenty of money to see them through the next 300 years. He had clearly been an extraordinary sort of guy, since the devotion he inspired had been so strong that it had passed down almost unchanged during the intervening years. Despite not really being a con man anymore Jack could feel all his old instincts re-awaken - the opportunity too good to turn down. He didn’t plan on stealing anything, cause he wasn’t _that_ guy anymore, but this could mean free lodgings whilst he stayed in Rome... And who was he to disappoint these poor servants, who just wanted their master back? It was a win-win situation all round.

And... if things went wrong there was always Retcon. Technology might be almost non-existent in this time, but at least the apothecaries were well stocked - and he had always been a dab hand at chemistry. Getting the dosages right was tricky without better equipment, but having that tiny, simple tool in case of emergencies made him feel a lot better. He was very pleased that it was pretty much the norm for travelling gentlemen to carry their own miniature medicine cabinet. 

He was thrown out of his musings by Antonio.

“Pardon me for asking, your Benevolence - but did you see the mountains of Tibet? It has been passed down that you wished to seek enlightenment amongst the monks who dwell in the everlasting snow, and to climb the tallest mountain on Earth.”

“Oh yes, enlightenment. Wonderful thing. Spent a hundred and fifty years in a monastery - _very_ tranquil. And Mount Everest was quite something too...”

Antonio nodded, wide-eyed and impressed, as Jack described mountaineering feats worthy of someone named The Immortal, and he thought to himself that this still left him 150 blank years to fill in. He was used to creating a history out of nothing, but never a history quite this long. He’d have to be careful.

“Your English is very good,” he complimented Antonio a little later, being grateful for not having to try to get by on his still rudimentary Italian. If only the wrist strap hadn’t burnt out so completely, conversing would have been a lot easier.

“Oh, but it is thanks to your generous schooling stipend, of course. _Everyone_ in the family has been educated in the English language, as well as the more common subjects.”

No wonder they had stayed faithful, Jack thought, this Immortal had clearly been a great benefactor. He wouldn’t mind one of those himself...

For a good while they drove through cobbled streets, past villas and ancient buildings whose windows changed from black to glowing amber as evening fell. Finally they pulled up in front of a small palace, and as Jack got out of the carriage he studied the architecture, wondering how old the house could be. He had a feeling he might be called upon to know stuff like that, and there was only so far he could get on luck. Why hadn’t he feigned amnesia?

Then Antonio walked past him, opening the front door with the particular air of ownership and entitlement that comes from long service, and announced:

“Immortal - welcome home.”

The words caught Jack unguarded, and he almost faltered. What the hell was he doing? But it was too late to back out now.

Knowing how to make a good entrance - no matter the occasion - and always ready to play the part required, he strode through the doors as though he was indeed a centuries old living legend. 

There was a long moment of total silence as ‘his servants’ just stared at him in mixed disbelief and astonishment, before Antonio - relishing his role as The Immortal’s first contact - carefully introduced everyone, starting with his mother, who was also the housekeeper and very clearly the person in charge.

Jack - who had once spent an interesting three weeks pretending to be a Senator from Sto in a convoluted scam that had gone rather badly wrong - smiled his best million Watt smile as he shook hands and tilted his head sympathetically, asking questions designed to charm and disarm.

He half expected the real Immortal to show up at any moment, fuming because he’d not been picked up as he had asked... But there was no need to let that possibility stop him from enjoying himself. 

As the shyness faded, so they began asking him questions in return, clearly as star-struck as Antonio - which wasn’t surprising since he’d just fulfilled their ancient prophecy. 

Then a woman’s voice cut through - and in an instant the voices died down as the housekeeper glared around.

“Stop! Stop! But what are you doing? Master, please forgive - they are but excited and have clearly forgotten that it is their duty to _serve_, not to talk! You must be famished and your _clothes_-” she tutted in the way of women anywhere, “is _terrible_! Ah, it hurts my heart to have you looking thus, even though it is wonderful disguise. Come now. Maria! Loretta! Antonio! Get a bath ready for his Benevolence, and find the best clothes. Pietro, Renata, Mario, Julio - in the kitchen, pronto!”

There followed what were obviously more specific instructions in incomprehensible Italian, and immediately the servants scattered to their different jobs. The housekeeper then turned to him, smiling and a little apologetic.

“Immortal - it will be a little time before things are ready. Why you not go to your study? I shall bring refreshments, because dinner will be a while...” 

Without waiting to hear his reply she indicated that he should follow and he obediently did so, trying not to show how much he adored the way she ‘managed’ him - it had been a long time since anyone had done so, and he was relishing it very much indeed. 

As they walked up the ornate staircase and through the house she carefully pointed out all the places where changes had been made - all for the better she hoped, and he readily agreed. He could tell that she was still nervous, but she was obviously one of those people who channelled nervousness into action. It was a shame she wasn’t 25 years younger...

Just as they reached the study one of the girls appeared, telling of some domestic catastrophe or other, and Jack’s guide frowned deeply, anger flashing in her dark eyes. He immediately told her to just go and sort it out, without worrying about him - he’d be quite fine in his own house. Sending her a dazzling smile she nodded in acquiescence, promising to return as soon as possible with a drink.

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself Jack entered the study - and found himself rooted on the spot in pure shock. The wall opposite the door was dominated by a large portrait - clearly a masterpiece, rich in detail and almost inhuman in its realism. 

And it was _him_.

Except it couldn’t be... it had to be a coincidence. At least it explained why Antonio had so readily welcomed him.

Slowly he closed the door, heart beating, then walked over and studied the picture before carefully touching the surface. It was definitely real - the paint a little cracked in the way of older paintings. Letting his eyes travel over the image, he couldn’t help but smirk a little, since he - or The Immortal, rather - looked rather dashing in the puffy sleeves and tight breeches that the fashion had dictated. And then something caught his attention - both wrists were bare. 

This made him feel virtually convinced that this was really all just a case of mistaken identity and accidental look-alike-ness, but still he opened the wriststrap to do a basic scan. It couldn’t hurt to check for anything out of the ordinary. 

Just in case.

A swift check proved that the painting really was genuine, and then he started scanning the rest of the room, discovering that there was something hidden behind one of the smaller paintings. A moment later he was looking at the door of a built-in safe, but the lock was no match for his training and abilities, and in no time at all it sprang open with a satisfying ‘click’. 

His eyes widened and he let out an involuntary whistle at the riches contained within. Mr Immortal was clearly as loaded as the palace would indicate, if not more so. Trying to tell himself that he was definitely not stealing anything - well at least not much - Jack began to sift through the contents, now and again stopping to admire some of the treasures, before discovering a simple piece of paper without an envelope - as though it had been left inside by accident. As he pulled it out and looked at it properly he suddenly felt faint. It bore a single line of writing in the Time Agency code that he could still write and decode in his sleep.

_Enjoy the alias._

It was signed with his own Time Agency number.

He stared at it in mute befuddlement for a long moment, then turned over the paper to see if there were any hidden clues. But no matter how hard he looked he couldn’t find any other message - no microchip, no invisible text, no other paper containing the clue to unravelling the message... Slowly he lifted his eyes and looked at the smiling face beaming down on him from the wall. Was it really him? But how? 

Carefully he closed the safe, then sat down at the desk and rested his head on his hands, staring at the mysterious piece of paper. 

Time Agency Code... that could mean several things. Had he finally discovered part of what the Agency had wiped from his memory? In which case - was this something _they_ had set up, and if so what was the plan? There was also the possibility that it was another Agent who’d arranged all this... Jack found himself smiling as he thought of a certain ex-partner who’d truly revel in the opulence of the place. Although why he’d bother with such a backwater was a mystery. Maybe it was a hideout? Although Jack couldn’t imagine him abandoning so much money... 

Of course there was also the possibility that he had set this up himself, sometime in his future - that he would be a time traveller again, and had gone back in time to create this new life. But why? 

He picked up a seal from the desk and studied the ornate ‘I’, surrounded by trailing flowers. ‘The Immortal’ - a ridiculous name, or title... just like a Time Lord name. 

His eyes narrowed. Could it all be a ploy to attract the Doctor’s attention? Make up a person who sounded like a Time Lord, in the hope that the Doctor would hear of it and investigate? But what if it had worked? What if the Doctor had found him because of the name, and had then helped him go back and set it all up in the first place?

His head began to hurt as he tried to work out what was the most likely explanation. The one thing he was sure of was that he hated whoever had written the note, even if it was his future or past self - he had hardly seen anything less helpful in his whole life. It implied that the only purpose of the whole thing - house, money, servants - was to have fun. _In principle_ he of course agreed with this wholeheartedly - but in reality it was infuriatingly vague. If it really was from himself, then he was probably trying to avoid changing history, but a tiny pointer would have been nice. He didn’t like being in the dark. 

And if it was the Time Agency, then there was the distinct possibility that it was a code for something else - something he now didn’t know.

Then the housekeeper returned, bringing a glass of the most wonderful wine he’d had in years, and also let him know that his bath was ready.

Hours later, sitting in front of a roaring fire, clean and content after a magnificent meal and wearing fabulously expensive clothes, he thought to himself that he could get used to this...

***

In the end, it wasn’t the obvious things that made him leave.

\- Not the fact that running around calling himself ‘The Immortal’ was as stupid as painting a giant target on his chest. (Not to mention that ageing would be a rather obvious give-away.)

\- Not the fact that, the name apart, the chances of running into the Doctor in Rome were extremely low.

\- Not the fact that he was deeply uneasy with not knowing why he had set the thing up - presuming it was his own work.

\- And not the discovery of a whole underworld full of demons and magic - both of which were very real, and very unsettling. (What were the demons? Aliens who’d crashed millennia ago and ‘gone native’? Creatures from another dimension? And how and why did magic work? It shouldn’t, but it did. He was absurdly grateful that The Immortal had a reputation for scorning it.)

These all played a part, of course, they were the logical reasons he _had_ to leave, and they were what made him tell his servants to keep his stay a secret.

But the main thing - the thing that he couldn’t live with, in spite of the luxury - was the way they looked at him. Somewhere between awe and worship and love... the same way he and Rose had looked at the Doctor. 

Except the Doctor had been the real deal - a Time Lord, the last survivor of the most brilliant race ever to grace the universe, a man more gifted and extraordinary than Jack would ever meet. 

And to have that look turned on _him_ made all his bravura somehow fade into nothing. 

_‘I’m not who you think I am!’_ he wanted to tell them, yell at them. _‘I’m just an ex-soldier/Time Agent, sort-of ex-con man time traveller from the future (which is impressive, OK, but not **that** amazing, honestly), and now I’m stuck. I’m just a regular guy, not your benevolent Immortal (even though I am very handsome and charming and smart and pretty spectacular in bed, to say the least); but I am **not** a great, mythical creature unchanged by time. Time is undoing me, time is vanishing every day, and I’m scared I’ll run out without ever finding what I’m looking for!’_

Except he couldn’t say that of course - they had all been waiting for The Immortal, _generations_ of them existing just to be there when he needed, and he couldn’t take away their dream.

So he told them that he wanted to travel some more. Just to see America - he hadn’t been there yet. 

As he walked out the door, in a wonderful caped coat that he had really taken to, and with enough money hidden away in the pockets to see him through a decade or two, he felt more of a traitor than he ever had before in his life - but what else could he do?

***

It wasn’t until 1892, after a fight on Ellis Island, that he finally understood why he had chosen that _particular_ alias - and why he might need it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is Jack and the Fanged Four! It all fitted together _beautifully_ \- it was like the writers had Jack in mind when they wrote the flashbacks in _The Girl in Question_. And Darla... Oh Darla rules. _Enjoy_. (For those not familiar with Doctor Who/Torchwood, then James Marsters played 'Captain John', a former partner of Capt Jack's, guest starring in S2 of Torchwood.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set in 1894 - next time we will get to 'modern day'. 
> 
> Also, I thought people might like to be reminded of what Jack looked like at this time, so I found some pictures. Close up [here](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/elisi/4713981/521889/521889_original.jpg), full length [here](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/elisi/4713981/521472/521472_original.jpg) (mmmm, coat...) and one where he's sitting [here](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/elisi/4713981/522424/522424_original.jpg) (just because I liked it). With many thanks to Torchwood for giving us Jack in something approximating the perfect period costume. :)

_Darla: Oh, come on. Have you seen him? With the eyes and the chest and the... (sighs blissfully) _**immortality.**  
_William: We're immortal._  
_Darla: Not like him. I mean, he's not some common vampire. He's—I don't know what he is. A giant. A titan straddling good and evil, serving no master but his own considerable desires._  
_[...]_  
_William: Drusilla, you—you let him touch you?_  
_Drusilla: He felt like sunshine._

**Vienna, 1894**

Europe was quite a different place when one had money, Jack had soon realised. Last time he’d been in Vienna he’d mostly spent his time walking and admiring, but this time he found himself at the opera with a beautiful girl on his arm - which was far more like it.

Soon however he discovered the downside - opera, German opera in particular, was not his thing at all. 

His only previous experience with the art form had been a fabulous Nu-Delta3-Phonic performance of ‘The Ring Cycle’ on Venus 5 in the 37th century, and whilst he hadn’t expected anything like naked flying valkyries - given the time period and the fact that they were watching a different opera - the sheer mind-numbing dullness of the show caused his eyes to wander over the audience, idly wondering if he could talk the girl into a threesome, until they stopped at the box opposite, containing two couples... and then he froze. 

He didn’t notice a single thing that took place on stage for the rest of the performance, as his eyes were glued to a man he’d thought he’d lost forever - talking, laughing and clearly enjoying himself with his new companions. 

_It couldn’t be... _

Jack tried his best to catch his eyes, but there was zero reaction - which wasn’t surprising since the other was probably pulling off some scam or other. The women though sent him a few appreciative smiles, much to his date’s consternation. (That ruled out threesomes then. Damn. On the plus-side though, it made the decision to ditch her a lot easier.)

When the show was finally over he rushed after them, desperate not to lose what might be his only chance to get off the planet - or at least out of this time - for goodness knew how many years. The men went off together and Jack saw them pick up a couple of pretty girls, but as he followed them down a dark, narrow sidestreet he received the evening’s second shock. 

When he turned into the alley, he - as he had expected - saw two embracing couples... but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he with growing horror realised that something was very, very wrong. His head told him in no uncertain terms what he was witnessing, but still he couldn’t make himself believe it.

Without thinking he called out “Stop!” and the ‘men’ both looked up, yellow feline eyes studying him coldly.

Then their faces melted back to their human features as the tall, dark haired one looked him over disdainfully.

“And who are you to tell Angelus what to do?”

Jack clenched his jaw, looking from one to the other. This changed everything, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed - except that now he knew what name to use.

“I’m The Immortal.”

Angelus was clearly not impressed.

“Are you now? Come to beg some leftovers?”

Rudely he threw the half-conscious girl at him, and Jack almost stumbled trying to catch her, then found himself desperately trying to stop the bleeding from her neck. 

“_Please_ \- do I _look_ like a vampire?” he answered angrily, looking at Angelus with ill-concealed disgust. 

“Nah,” Angelus leered, “you look like a self-important moron who’s bitten off more than he can chew.”

“Well look who’s talking,” Jack shot back, increasingly irritated. Sure vampires were evil - but this guy was clearly also a major jerk. Inwardly cursing he turned to the other one. It was too dark to discern what look was in his eyes, but Jack had to try - for old times sake if nothing else. He had plenty of experience of reasoning with this particular man and made sure to use the voice that was pleasant, but unmistakably authoritative: 

“Just - let. the girl. _go_. Then we’ll talk, OK?”

The nasty grin should have warned him, but he was still shocked when the vampire casually snapped the girl's neck.

“Oops?”

Angelus beamed. “Ah! That was a good 'un William. Well done!”

They shot each other a look and laughed - so intimate and confidential Jack felt his hands curl into fists. Then Angelus slung his arm around William’s shoulders and they walked off, never looking back.

Jack was left standing in the dark alley clutching a dying girl, hands covered in blood and his mind thoroughly shaken.

His old partner had become a _vampire_. Unless of course it was just someone who happened to look like him - which was obviously a distinct possibility - but after his own 'Immortal' gig he was wary of jumping to conclusions.

He tried telling himself that he should leave ‘William’ alone - and yet after a few weeks he caught up with them in Frankfurt. 

To his dismay he discovered that Angelus was far more dangerous than he’d thought, as well as being a thoroughly nasty piece of work in every way. Jack had seen a lot in his life, but he’d never come across someone who got off on destroying innocence as much as this creature. Nuns were a particular favourite, and - despite not really wanting to antagonise the vampires any more than necessary - Jack made sure to arrange safe passage for a whole convent on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. 

But as soon as _that_ crisis was over, Angelus managed to get hold of some Rathrun eggs, which presented an entirely different sort of danger. So Jack stole them and then hatched them himself - the only way to make sure they didn’t end up in the wrong hands. 

These actions instantly earned him death threats, fury and sworn enmity - trying to be a good guy was really terribly inconvenient for his own personal aims. 

After that he did his best to stay out of the vampires’ way, but somehow their paths kept colliding through Europe, and he felt compelled to step in time and again, as ever trying to control 'William' - and now by extension Angelus - the same way he always had. Control of course being more like damage-limitation. And through it all he found himself going near-insane not knowing. Was it _him_, or wasn't it? Every time he tried to just _talk_, they tried to kill him.

His old partner had always been a sociopath, and becoming a vampire clearly suited him perfectly - he probably thought that messing with Jack was the best game ever invented. At least the women didn’t appear interested in their deadly tag, and - grateful for small mercies - Jack wished the boys were as sensible. He didn’t want to fight them, he just - he didn’t even know _what_ he wanted anymore. There were plenty of reasons why they’d split up...

Finally he decided to just return to Rome - throw a grand ball the way he'd been planning and actually try to enjoy himself. And _definitely_ not invite any vampires.

**Rome, later same year.**

“Antonio! Good morning. Tell me - do we have mail? Any last acceptances for my big party?”

It really was a beautiful morning, and Jack felt like life was smiling on him again as he sat in the ornately carved chair behind his ancient desk. The early morning sun was falling through the windows and onto the rich carpet of the study, picking out the corner of his large portrait and making it look as though it was studded with a diamond. Which it could be, if he wanted. Money was _nice_. And tomorrow night it was finally time for his special ball with hundreds of guests... 

Surely he’d find someone - or some_ones_ \- to bring back to his very large and comfortable bed. He’d been reading up on the various demon species, and there were some that looked _very_ flexible. Oh he’d enjoy this alias alright - starting with this party. What was the point of money if not to spend it?

Yes, it was a bandaid on a giant wound, but it was better than nothing... and hopefully it’d take his mind off things.

Antonio however didn’t seem to share his mood, waving his hands in great agitation before handing over an envelope. 

“It is very bad, I’m afraid. Terrible news! We will be a few guests short, Immortal.”

Jack took the letter from him, frowning. 

“What! Why?”

Without waiting for an answer he swiftly scanned the few lines, and Jack could feel a dent forming in his happy mood. 

“Do we know who did this?”

Antonio hesitated for a moment, worry trailing over his features. In his face Jack could still see the echo of the boy who had once greeted him so brightly, and for just a second he felt immobilised with terror at what he was. His own face had remained so unchanged that it had been a shock to return to Rome to find everyone aged. Antonio was nearing middle age, married and with teenaged children, and Jack... Jack was The Immortal. 

Maybe if he heard the name a million times he’d get used to it - be able to begin to accept what he was. After all, this was one of the reasons he’d returned. He had been drawn to the one place where his ‘condition’ was not just accepted, but celebrated. Where _what_ he was and _who_ he was were one and the same. Where he could just be himself, whatever that was now.

Then Antonio replied. “We know that it was a vampire attack and there is talk that... that it might have been Angelus.”

Jack buried his face in his hands, then slowly looked up through his fingers. “I _so _did not want to hear that.”

“My apologies, your Benevolence,” Antonio said, but Jack shook his head. “Not your fault. I should have known they’d show up here sooner or later...”

Leaning back in the chair, he let his mind go over recent news stories, beginning to see a pattern. “Shouldn’t wonder if they were behind all the other things that have happened lately - they really do think they can get away with _anything_.”

For a moment Antonio’s eyes glittered in just the same way his mother’s once had. “Shall I ask Father Oremus to gather an mob?”

Suddenly laughing, Jack shook his head. This was perfect - finally he was in a position where he could actually _do_ something. “No... I have a different idea. Tell me - the report... did it only mention Angelus and William?” Antonio nodded, and Jack’s eyes narrowed. “That means their women still aren’t in the game. Oh I think I have a plan, handsome boy.”

The servant flushed in pleasure at the old nickname, and Jack grinned.

“Try to find out where they’re staying. Then get the strongest servants together - tonight we go hunting!”

***

The hunt took a lot longer than anticipated.

Being busy with party preparations all day, Jack sent a couple of servants to watch the vampires' dwelling, but once they went out they managed - through design or by accident he didn't know - to get away. It took most of the night to find them again, but then thankfully things were easy. The vampires had speed, strength and cunning, but Jack had a large team and plenty of experience of catching hostiles in any terrain.

Soon enough he had them cornered, and they both turned to face him as he approached, even as their eyes looked in vain for a means of escape.

"Immortal!" Angelus said, voice a low menace, and Jack shook his head. 

"Oh Angelus. I'm sorry it's come to this, but I’m tired of you two being a pain in my ass - especially because sadly it’s never been a literal one."

Smirking he beckoned his men forwards.

"Anyway - nice dreams!"

Then in no time at all Jack stood above two unconscious vampires, waiting for his carriage. Studying William’s face, half-hidden by unruly hair, he couldn’t help but shake his head. The likeness was _uncanny_... he’d have to get a closer look. _Much_ closer.

As the servants got ready to string the vampires up in The Room of Pain (very handy facility, if a touch medieval) sometime later, Jack stopped them.

“Undress them first - down to their undergarments.”

Catching the looks they sent him, he chuckled.

“Oh no, not interested in any of that, even though they _are_ rather handsome... but I want them humiliated.” He thought for a moment. 

“Like David, cutting a piece off Saul’s cape.”

The men nodded sagely and followed his instructions without further questions, and Jack felt his mind wander as he silently watched them, arms folded. It was very hard not to ponder all the possibilities that presented themselves with two gorgeous men all shackled up, but he really didn’t need a reputation for molesting his prisoners. Humiliation - torture even - that was OK... But there were fine lines when it came to these things, and he needed to be on the right side. So it was just a case of David and Saul - not that David had tied Saul up, of course, but the sentiment was the same. 

Yet again he felt very grateful towards the lovely religious girl who’d been trying to save his soul when crossing the Atlantic - and who had in the process managed to impart a great deal of Biblical knowledge. It came in handy at times like this. He’d tried to seduce her in return - because she was very, _very_ pretty - and might even have succeeded if she hadn’t surprised him with the cabin boy. After that she’d denounced him as a vile sinner and told him he’d burn in hell when he died if he didn’t repent... 

Laughing hysterically had probably not been the wisest option under the circumstances, but then the immortality was still something he was trying to get used to. Hell really was the least of his worries.

When his two vampires were shackled up good and proper, he sent the others away. 

“Look - the party is tonight and there’s work to do. Antonio, I’m counting on you to oversee everything. Not sure how long this will take.”

Antonio nodded, and Jack smiled gratefully. Faithful, competent servants were a true pleasure, and Antonio had inherited his mother’s touch for organising. He knew that by now all he himself had to do was turn up - Antonio might even be happy to have him out of the way. His own presence seemed to put a dampener on the servant’s natural vocal skills.

Which left him with a whole day for dealing with his vampire problem... 

After locking the door securely he walked up to them, studying Angelus first. Maybe a hair’s breath taller than himself, naturally big and imposing. They’d left his under shirt on, but Jack could still easily follow the gorgeous lines of the body beneath the fabric. 

A great shame he was an evil bastard. Also a great shame he’d decided that they were enemies. The Immortal’s reputation was rather murky to say the least and a vampire lover or two would not cause any eyebrows to be raised. 

But Angelus of course wasn’t his real interest - it was William. What was his nickname again? Spike. 

Carefully Jack reached out and lifted his face. He’d never had a chance to study him up close before, and his breath caught as he took in the chiselled features... A familiar face in this place - someone to _talk_ to, someone who didn’t think that gramophones and light bulbs were cutting-edge technology - would be worth more than everything he now owned, even if ‘William’ was a vampire now. But Jack could hardly keep him against his will... 

Angrily he shook his head. This was ridiculous - he needed to find out if this _was_ his old partner, and he needed to be methodical and detached.

First of all there were the obvious things, and he swiftly discovered that William carried no weapons or technology whatsoever. Of course vampires didn’t really _need_ them, but the man he remembered had always had countless tricks up his sleeve... and other places. Jack couldn’t imagine simple death changing anyone from such deeply ingrained habits. 

The only possible explanation was that someone had wiped his memory before leaving him in this time... and that was rather far-fetched, although not impossible. He certainly was good at pissing people off. 

But then there was the hair - it was light brown and floppy, nothing like the tight dark curls of his former partner. Not to mention how badly it had been cut... 

A thorough examination revealed more proofs; birthmarks in different places, scars missing - all the little details that only a lover would know. There had been other things that he’d noticed the few times they’d met, gestures and looks that seemed strange, but then it had been more than half a century since they’d last met, and he had been unwilling to trust his memory.

But finally, after lingering far too long, unwilling to let go, he gave up his efforts. This man really _was_ a stranger.

It was probably some form of spatial genetic multiplicity, although how that worked over 3 millennia he wasn't quite sure.

He studied the face for one long, longing moment, then softly brushed his thumb over William’s lips. He was tempted to kiss him, but the vampire would probably be able to taste it, and then get even grumpier. And Jack didn’t want them any more upset - not in _that_ way at least. He just wanted them _gone_.

Sighing he got out the syringes full of tranquilliser that he’d prepared earlier. He had no idea if drugs worked on vampires, but it couldn’t hurt to attempt to keep them unconscious. Again he dearly wished that they weren’t so thoroughly evil and hadn’t decided to hate him, because they could have had _so_ much fun together. William - Spike - whatever his name was - might not be his former partner, but Jack was sure that he was just as skillful and full of kinky tricks... 

It wasn’t fair, Jack thought with sudden melancholy. He had the power, but he was all alone whilst they had each other. He was sure that the two of them fought and argued and screwed and enjoyed their depraved unlife together in every possible way - they were immortal and conscience free, the whole world their playground. So why did they have to come and bother _him_, reminding him so forcibly of things he had lost? (Bad things, really, but still something that had been his.) The loneliness felt sharper and more bitter than ever before.

Damn them. They wanted a fight? We’ll he’d show them how it was done - the winner would be taking all.

As he stepped outside, locking the door securely, he realised that the sun would soon rise and smiled to himself, mischief blending with anger. Time to pay the ladies a visit - hopefully one with a more pleasant outcome. Women, he knew, were by far the more sensible sex, whether evil or good.

***

Looking out of the window and seeing the bright morning sunshine spill over endless red-tiled roofs, Darla’s eyes clouded in anger. At least until now the boys had come home every night, but clearly their latest stunt had been so elaborate that they’d been caught out by the sun.

This had to stop - except for once she wasn’t sure what to do.

She’d known that Angelus needed a new distraction, and had been trying to think of something suitably wicked when they’d accidentally crossed paths with The Immortal. What had it been... she couldn’t remember. But at one point there had been nuns.

Whatever the trigger had been, Angelus had sworn enmity. After all, what kind of villain was he if he didn’t have an arc-nemesis? And so the game had commenced, Angelus and William thick as thieves plotting against their foe, and Darla herself neglected - something she did not find a pleasant experience. Fondly she thought back on Holtz and all the fun they’d had, destroying his life until the only thing he had left was vengeance. But this Immortal - whoever or _what_ever he was - could not be attacked thus. He did not appear to have any family or close friends - no ties to the world except wealth, and no apparent interest in playing games. At every turn he had outwitted the boys, but he had never retaliated, never tried to catch them. 

Fed up, Darla had demanded that Angelus take her to Rome - she loved the city, and had hoped that he would remember how much enjoyment they’d found before. Except then The Immortal had turned up...

Irritably she threw her cape over a chair and was about to ask Dru what she could think of to suitably punish their menfolk, when the door suddenly sprang open.

In the doorway stood a man - tall, broad shouldered and very handsome. He was wearing a caped coat, unbuttoned, revealing expensive clothing beneath, and although she had only seen him once before, from a distance, there was no mistaking who it was.

Darla often prided herself on her ability to categorise and label people within moments, and this man had the unmistakable bearing and air of a soldier - a far, far different breed than her own darling deadly boy... And, with sudden mirth, she realised that this was why Angelus would never be able to win his competition. This man was not interested in their sort of mind games, and never would be.

Slowly he stepped into the room, looked from her to Dru and back again with a calculating look in his eyes, before settling on her. 

Then he smiled - revealing dimples, and eyes that sparkled even in the dimly lit room - and the world was suddenly different.

“You must be Darla. It is a _great_ pleasure finally meeting you.”

He held out his hand, and, for the first time she could remember, she hesitated. She was the mistress of seduction, knew every nuance of every trick and had the measure of every man born in the world... and even so she almost faltered. Because in his eyes, in his smile, she saw herself. 

The snares of men and women were different - but in this man’s eyes she saw the eternally female _‘I can be whatever you want’_. And yet there was not a hint of subservience to it - no reason for it, except that this was clearly what he desired too. Pleasure for pleasure’s sake - _that_ was his game. 

She took his hand, carefully, deliberately, before replying. “And you must be The Immortal. Do you by any chance happen to know where our men have disappeared to?”

He chuckled, and she noticed that his eyes were very blue.

“I’m afraid I had to... detain them for a while. Don’t worry, they’ll be just fine, but I got tired of them bothering me and they didn’t seem inclined to talk any kind of sense. Being vampires, I presume they like bondage? Anyway, I’m thinking that you are probably as fed up with all this Alpha Male strutting as I am...”

She opened her mouth to answer when Drusilla cut in. The girl had been studying their guest in her own intense way ever since he entered, and now she laid a hand on his arm, her face entranced.

“I can see the stars in your eyes...” She tilted her head, staring like she could look right into his soul, and The Immortal watched her carefully.

“Drusilla I presume,” he said, and she nodded, eyes distant.

“I used to dance in the sunshine, singing songs and dreaming of other worlds. But you touched the stars...”

He looked rather disconcerted at her words, and Darla stepped closer, now truly intrigued. She had expected him to be a demon of some sort, but bizarrely he looked human, seemed human - his heartbeat easily sensed. And his scent... she frowned. She knew how humans smelt, every component familiar and most of them unpleasant... but this man was unlike anything she’d ever come across. She could see that he was perspiring and yet his scent was fragrant, with not a hint of the stale sour stench of sweat. And no fear whatsoever. People, creatures, men... they could lie and deceive with their hands and eyes and words - but none could fool her nose. What was he?

Clearly deciding that Dru could not be relied upon for sensible discourse he turned back to Darla: “You see, I was wondering - since you are clearly the ones ruling the roost, or I know _nothing_ about relationships - could you possibly get your very handsome guys to stop bothering me? Unless you can talk them into bed, because that would be a _far_ better way of expending energy.”

He chuckled again, and she thought to herself that he might possibly be the only logical man in the entire world. And seeing the lust in his eyes she knew - had probably known since the second he stepped through the door - what to do with him, and how to get her own back on Angelus for ignoring her.

“Well,” she replied coquettishly, “you could try talking the two of us into bed to begin with...”

She reached up and pulled the coat off his shoulders, handing it to Dru who carelessly threw it away, face as excited as when she thought the fairies had brought her birthday presents. The Immortal laughed, and leapt onto the bed with a boyish delight entirely unlike the image he had at first projected. Turning to face them he let his eyes silently devour them, then grinned widely. “I have a feeling that talking won’t be necessary. Which is just how I like it... oh yeah!”

His eyes twinkled in pure delight, clearly as utterly confident of his own irresistibility as she was of hers, and Darla followed him onto the bed, intrigued and mesmerised. She couldn’t work out who was ensnaring whom - was she allowing him to seduce her or the other way around? He was unlike any creature she had ever met... and it was thrilling to encounter something truly new.

As she came closer, he without hesitation reached out and pulled her onto his lap. “You know,” he murmured, his breath warm against her lips, “I’ve never kissed a vampire before. I’m beginning to think this might have been a great oversight on my part.”

The kiss was searing and urgent, and the feel of his pulse beneath her hands caused her eyes to flicker gold as they parted. He noticed, and - tilting his head - asked her if she’d show her vamp face.

Watching her transform, he was clearly fascinated. 

“Amazing,” he muttered, following the contour of the ridges on her face. “Change back.”

Dru of course thought it a fabulous game, but Darla’s curiosity was piqued at his quietly muttered, “If only I’d paid better attention during my species teaching...” But then he suddenly caught her eyes.

“Is a vampire’s bite as erotic as I’ve been led to believe?”

“Only one way to find out,” she replied, smirking. He nodded and, holding her eyes, turned down his high collar and exposed his neck. Throwing Dru a glance, he asked:

“Will it be better with two?”

“Oh definitely,” she replied; and Dru, talking to herself about sunlight and a magic blue box, moved behind him, not needing any prompting. He appeared a touch concerned at Dru’s words, but Darla told him not to worry - no one could make sense of her. Then she let her fangs rest on his neck, sensing the blood rushing beneath... 

Three hundred years she’d lived and feasted on humans, delighting in all the flavours - the innocence, the pain, the fear. But she’d never tasted one like this. Like his scent, his blood was the same and yet alien - was it the true taste of immortality? She felt him stifle a cry of pain as they first penetrated his skin, and then his large hands held her tighter, his body shivering from that rush that made so many smile as death came to them. She felt Dru’s hands on his chest, and let her own fingers slip below his belt. Through her bliss she obscurely noticed his heart slow down, but didn’t pay much attention until it faded out completely.

Abruptly pulling back she stared down at him as he took one last breath - and then died.

Dru had stopped feeding too, and he was laid out in her arms in beautiful stillness. Darla couldn’t understand it. Had he been human after all, despite everything? He had welcomed their bite - asked for it - but how could he die if he was immortal? Because he was definitely dead - if there was anything she knew, that was it. The fine line separating life from death was one she was oh so very familiar with.

Unsure she looked at Dru, and saw that the girl was staring at him utterly mesmerised, smiling in that way that meant that as usual she had some insight that others didn’t.

***

_Waiting. Dru was good at waiting. Especially when she knew there was something incredible coming..._

_Darla was confused, but then Darla - for all her cleverness - was often unable to see clearly, the way Dru could. She held onto the man in her lap, stroking him carefully like he was one of her dolls - which was absurd, since he could not be broken. Ever. He was immortal - he was **The** Immortal. A fairy tale made real._

_His mind was like a treasure chest - she could only glimpse it in parts, fascinated by riches she had never known. So many impossible things for which she did not have names. And there was delicious darkness and pain too - things hidden and lost; memories erased, leaving hollow spaces._

_But above everything there was time. His life had been broken up - past, now and future zigzagging back and forth... Never before had she felt that anyone perceived the world like she did. That what had been and what could be were real and tangible - as flimsy and yet unalterable as each other. _

_And yet the stars never changed from their preordained courses._

_They whispered their secrets to her, but he had touched them. And the stars had in turn reached down to him - gifting him with their own time, their own glory._

_But then it started... she reached out for Darla’s hand, grasping tightly as her eyes never left the body she cradled. Slowly, slowly it built; like the first glimmers of dawn in the dark night’s sky, before abruptly growing and growing - light, brighter than any she’d seen, bursting from within him, flooding out to every part and remaking it anew. It was like the sun itself had come down to her, bathing her in the pure and eternal light of life. She would never see the sun again, and yet here she was, holding it in her hands, feeling it pulse under her fingers._

_Then he gasped, for a moment staring around in wonder like all new born. But then he remembered where he was, and grinned at them both._

“_Ladies_! Now _that_? Was spec-_tac_-ular. I’m thinking I have to redefine the concepts of good and evil, because _no way_ could a death like that ever be a bad thing! Oh, you just give me a moment and I will do my very, _very_ best to repay you... And _trust_ me - by the end of the day you too will have to redefine a few words!”

***

Looking out over the ballroom, Jack felt more at home than he had in 25 years. Humans and non-humans (and the myriad of in-betweens) were happily mixing and talking and dancing, and it could have been any party anywhere in the galaxies, except that the non-humans were ‘demons’ and outside there were carriages waiting, not space ships. But such details were easy to ignore for the time being. All he cared about was the fact that he had created a space where humans weren’t the norm and where the painfully restrictive conventions of ordinary life didn’t apply... where instead there were at least half a dozen different codes of conduct to remember, but everyone tried their best to be forbearing.

He’d left Darla and Dru barely able to walk just a few hours previously, but thankfully a hearty broth had given him back some strength - his new cook was brilliant. It had been one of his best-spent days ever, and no mistake. Dru had kinda freaked him out with her sharp insights, but thankfully she was too crazy for anyone to ever take her seriously. And Darla... he smiled to himself again. What a woman. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone more suited for the Time Agency, flammability apart - so it was probably a good thing that she was stuck here. He knew he ought to feel guilty for the whole evil-thing... but he couldn’t.

The only dampener to his mood was the murder of the servant whom he had sent to free Angelus and William. But Jack had already had his revenge, and he seriously hoped that the women would be able to talk their men out of further retaliations - he didn’t want to have to kill them, since staying out of history’s way was one of the most important aspects of this alias. And he had a feeling that ‘The Scourge of Europe’ would still have a large role to play. 

As he was wondering which guests to talk to next, Antonio’s voice cut through his thoughts - as always he heard him before he saw him.

“Master!” 

“Yes Antonio? Have we run out of anything? No wait - I know. It’s the decorations. Did someone get offended by them? Eat them? Try to mate with them?”

The man shook his head. “No no no! It is the vampires! They are coming!”

Jack grinned widely. “_Really?_ Well, let’s go see what they have to say...”

He carefully hid within hearing distance of the entrance, not intending to intervene unless absolutely necessary, and silently chuckled to himself as his doorman gave them short shift - he’d make sure to give the man an extra bonus.  
_  
‘Is there anything under blood vengeance?’ _would keep him amused for days. Longer even. He dearly, _dearly_ wished he could have been there when they’d returned and found their women ravished...

As he pulled back a corner of the curtain and watched them leave, angry and swearing, he became aware of someone standing behind him. 

“They look sad, no?”

He turned to see an extraordinarily well-endowed woman peering around his shoulder at the retreating figures of the vampires.

“And who are _you_?” he asked, holding out his hand. Whoever this woman was she was Italian with a capital I - all overflowing and voluptuous and with a fiery temper too, he was sure.

“I am Ilona Costa Bianci - Wolfram e Hart sent me.”

He gave her another once-over with his eyes, eyebrows rising. He’d reluctantly sent the law firm an invitation, really not wanting anything to do with them, yet knowing that he’d have to maintain friendly relations. A couple of vampires declaring themselves his enemies was just annoying - having an evil law firm on his back would be catastrophic.

“Oh. You... don’t look like a lawyer.” This was stating the obvious, and her laughter bubbled up infectiously. 

“True - but my superiors thought you might like this better than a man in a suit, si? I have... many talents.”

He grinned. “I don’t doubt it. And whilst I actually have a fondness for men in suits, I can’t say that I mind the alternative. So - what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Oh she was shrewd - and very, very good. He hadn’t known that anyone could pack so much innuendo into one word. But he didn’t feel like playing games, and so laid the cards on the table. 

“I know enough about Wolfram & Hart to know that they don’t send beautiful girls like you to parties just to be decorative, and I’m sure you have some fabulous deal worked out, all in my favour. Problem being: You do not have what I want, and never will. Also, I think your organisation is vile and despicable. _However_, I am quite willing to settle down to a mutually beneficial truce of some sort, if you’ll accept that I’ll never sign one of your contracts. What do you say?”

There was definite admiration in her eyes, and she smiled even as she shrugged.

“I read your file, and I see now that you have not changed at all in 300 years. This is a shame, but we will live with it.”

“Good. _Now_ \- would you like to dance?”

“But of course!” she replied. As they took to the dance floor she caught his eyes and asked, voice ensnaring and yet curious.

“So tell me Immortal - what is it that you desire that we cannot get you?”

For a moment he was silent, taking in the casual opulence of the ball room and all the wealth he had at his fingertips. Then he sighed.

Wrapping his arm more tightly around the woman in his arms - although goodness knew what she really was, she didn’t seem to breathe - he rested his head against hers and remembered another dance... 

A young girl - sweet and innocent and not at all like the women he was spending today with; champagne, Glenn Miller and an invisible spaceship. Finally he replied, voice barely above a whisper.

“I want to touch the stars.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally Buffy appears. :) Also on how Jack ends up in Rome at that point in time, and how he balances his Cardiff & Rome identities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for those unfamiliar with (or with rusty knowledge of) Torchwood:
> 
> The main bulk of this fic is set in 2004. After (somewhat reluctantly, long story) working for Torchwood for more than a century, Jack took over the running of Torchwood Three in 2000 (when the previous leader committed murder-suicide & killed the whole team on New Year's Eve 1999, after seeing what the future would bring. Torchwood is such a FUN show!). At this point Jack's team consists of Suzie Costello (his 2nd in command who is extremely capable and smart) and Toshiko Sato (generally known as Tosh), a tech genius whom he rescued from a UNIT 'holding facility'.

_Alex: This place - it’s yours. Torchwood Three. My gift to you Jack, for a century of service as field operative. Give this place a purpose - before it’s too late. Please. _  
~  
_Spike: So, uh...you heard from Buffy lately?_  
_Andrew: Yeah. Of course, uh...she's in Rome. Dawn's in school there. Italian school._  
_Spike: Well. Rome, eh? Never pegged her for the expatriate show._  
_Andrew: Yeah. She was rounding slayers up in Europe, decided she liked it there, I guess._

**Cardiff, early morning Friday 26th of March 2004**

Cold, leftover pizza really wasn’t his ideal breakfast, but Jack couldn’t be bothered going out and buying some actual food - and besides, deRossi’s really were quite extraordinarily good for a pizza place. 

Settling down in his chair he switched on BBC News 24 on his screen, absentmindedly listening to the headlines as he flicked through the paperwork that he’d spent the last week ignoring. 

Budgets, employee reviews, case files that needed completing and archiving, Rift statistics, weevil number monitoring, overdue quarterly reviews for the government... he was always behind on his paperwork. It was probably his subconscious rebelling at one of the outwardly attributes of his responsibilities - an ever-present dread at being in charge of this place; of having people rely on him and trust him to keep them safe and alive through the dangers they faced daily; of trying to do something good and not really knowing how... Monitoring the Rift and dealing with what came through it was crucial to the planet’s safety, and yet the job by its very nature consisted of deceit, ruthlessness, violence and meaningless death.

Despite Torchwood becoming his main home during the last century, he had never forgotten that for him it was also a means to an end - and had never, ever wanted the place to be _his_. How could he give it a purpose when he struggled to find one himself?

Then a live report caught his attention, and he looked up at the blandly attractive female presenter on the screen. 

_“...and we’re just now getting reports that there has been a meteor crash south of Rome - it has not yet been established whether there were any casualties, or why astronomers had not picked up on this.”_

For a few seconds Jack sat completely still, wrestling with himself, but then he leapt down the stairs, making Tosh jump where she was sitting at her workstation, already busy.

“Tosh - what have I told you about coming in to work early? It’s very inconsiderate the way you always grab all the best equipment!”

Thankfully she was beginning to come to grips with his sense of humour, and didn’t apologise profusely the way she would have half a year previously. Instead she shot him a calculating look.

“What do you want?”

He grinned. “I want you to you check out a ‘meteor crash’ south of Rome, using everything at our disposal.”

“And what will _you_ be doing?” she asked archly.

“I will be standing here glowering in a employer-like fashion,” he replied cheekily.

She shook her head, but was unable to hide a smile as she in moments brought up streaming satellite imagery, easily bypassing security codes and other obstacles, before trying to see if what-ever-it-was had left behind a trail that could be analysed.

The crash site looked inconspicuous enough - a wide, steaming crater, apparently empty except for a few minor bits of debris - when suddenly there was a glimpse of something.

Before he could even ask her to go back and pause it, she had brought up a freeze-frame of the image and Jack couldn't help but gasp.

It was a Ettian ship - its elongated, irregular tetrahedron shape and dark purple colour easily recognisable even though the front was pretty badly bashed. But if the invisibility generator still worked - more or less anyway - there was a good chance that the engines might still be functioning. In which case...

He had to grasp onto Tosh’s chair for support as it hit him - if he could fix the ship, he could _leave_. With a ship like that, he could be three galaxies away in under a week - oh he knew _just_ the place to get his vortex manipulator fixed... and then he would finally be free again.

_‘He’s coming - the one you’re looking for. But the century will turn twice before you find each other again.’ _

Those had been The Girl’s words. Little slip of a thing, completely out of place in the dirty tavern where he’d been trying to drown his sorrows, but so calm and selfpossessed that it still freaked him out. And she’d had that _look_ in her eyes when she’d foretold his future - the one that reminded him much too forcefully of Dru. As much as he’d tried not to, he still believed - there was no denying the gift of a true Seer. 

And now - now might be the right moment... twice the century had turned, like she’d said. Maybe _this_ was the point - the opportunity he’d been waiting for - the time when he’d be able to take up his quest again?

He smiled to himself as he thought that for almost anyone else this particular race meant certain death, considering the radiation expelled by the engines - but he'd learned long ago that any sort of radiation just rolled off him as though it didn't exist. 

Then he abruptly realised what this meant for the people who'd have been sent to investigate, and he ran off to his office as fast as he could, throwing a swift - but genuine - ‘thank you’ over his shoulder to Tosh. 

Moments later he was on the phone to the British branch of UNIT, telling them that they had to talk their Italian counterparts out of going near the ship.

“Do I need to remind you that this is a UNIT matter, Captain? And one in a foreign country none the less. Torchwood’s input or assistance will not be needed.” 

The General’s voice was clipped and hostile, the man not bothering to hide his displeasure in any way. Jack swore silently. UNIT was happy enough to utilise Torchwood’s resources when necessary, but resented interference - especially from Torchwood Three. On the other hand, his distancing from Torchwood One might just work to his advantage this time...

“Look - I’m a friend of the Doctor’s,” he said, and there was a momentary pause on the other end of the line. Smiling, he continued. “Yes - _that_ Doctor. And although I’m not quite in his league, I have a few talents of my own - including a fair amount of knowledge of this species and their ships. The most important thing being that their engines emit a huge amount of radiation - it’s contained and hidden by the shields, but if anyone gets too close they’ll get sick very, very quickly. Trust me, it’s not pretty and your suits will make next to no difference. And if someone actually gets inside and presses the wrong button you could have a Chernobyl on your hands!”

“But _you_ would know which buttons to avoid?”

There was an unmistakable edge to the General’s voice, and Jack couldn’t help but smirk.

“Oh I know what _all_ the little buttons do - could probably fly the thing blindfolded. See Ettian ships are based on the common triple-layered micro-differentiated base system, but they have their own gamma-wave interstellar HighPhoton engines and the most _amazing_ navigation abilities. Absolutely gorgeous, to be honest.”

“Well... you seem to know what you’re talking about at least.” Grudging respect was creeping in, and Jack almost sighed in relief.

“Yes I do. _Please_ let me check it out, I’m only trying to help you avoid a disaster. Hey - I’ll even strip it down for you if there’s anything useful left. I do owe you a few favours after all.”

Finally - after some discussions with Italian UNIT - the thing was settled, and Jack was informed that there would be a plane waiting for him in London, along with all the necessary papers. 

Slowly he replaced the handset and leaned back in the chair - it was of course hugely unlikely that he could get the spacecraft to work, but if nothing else he'd managed to save a lot of lives - and got himself something approximating a holiday for the first time in over four years... 

The location of the crash suddenly registered in earnest, and his smile deepened. It would be hard work to keep his identities separate, but the thought of going to Rome and _not_ visit his other home... not indulge in his beautiful house and servants and all the luxury at his fingertips... no, that was impossible. And he’d not be Captain Jack Harkness there anyway. He was being furnished with a nice alias and cover story, so even _if_ his cover was blown, _he_ wouldn’t be rumbled - British UNIT was as keen to keep Torchwood a secret from the rest of UNIT as he was.

Looking down into the Hub, it sank in that he would actually be going away - for a couple of weeks at least, probably more. How would his team cope without him? Then he smiled bitterly. As if his presence, or lack thereof, had ever made any lasting difference... And it wasn’t like they knew how special he was.

No, they’d do fine without him, of course they would. Besides, he’d only be a phone call away. 

**Rome, Tuesday 30th of March (morning)**

Slowly driving back to the city from the crash site in his borrowed UNIT Jeep, Jack was tired and still disappointed: the Ettian ship had crashed because the engines had blown up, and there was no hope of repair. The crew had died when exposed to the oxygen-laced atmosphere, which meant that there would be no rescue forthcoming - Ettians didn’t waste resources on the dead.

But apart from the engines the ship was mostly intact - the shield thankfully holding and containing the radiation. The invisibility generator had - much to his dismay - sustained more damage than he’d thought, and he had spent the last three days fixing it as best he could. It was finally stabilised now which would make life a lot easier, and hopefully he’d not have to ret-con anyone else... It was time consuming and under the circumstances tricky - he’d done 24 people so far, and sincerely hoped that he was finished now. 

He still had the whole ship to strip however, and he was beginning to regret his promise - the job could easily take more than a month, and thanks to the still significant radiation he couldn’t even get any help. At least Torchwood seemed to be holding up just fine in his absence - Suzie was just as competent a leader as he’d always known her to be, which was very reassuring. 

Seeing the sun peeping over the horizon, he knew he didn’t have to go back just yet - it wasn’t like he needed sleep - but the thought of a proper continental breakfast, with fresh orange juice and home-made pastries, served in the garden, was too tempting. 

As he hummed along to the opening bars of an early morning radio show, he thought to himself that if he was going to stay for a while he could at least have _one_ small party. He missed parties, having been almost allergic to them since the Millennium. But The Immortal’s house was as different from the Hub as was possible... He could spend the morning sending out invitations and calling on a few old friends, since he really needed a break from the cramped spaceship. Also it would give the servants something to do, other than look after him - surely they could rustle up a little shindig in 4 days.

Yes, a party was just the thing. And after all, wasn’t that why this alias existed? So he had a place to escape to - somewhere not steeped in aliens and death and pain.

**Later the same morning**

Buffy rather liked café breakfasts. She didn’t indulge in them often, but sometimes it was just what she needed. Like today when she had a meeting to get to and had been forced to get up early. Or early for _her_ at least - Dawn had thrown an alarm clock at her as she’d left for school and finished off the cereal for good measure... So café breakfast it was. There was also the fact that cafés inevitably made her feel very European and cosmopolitan - plus they always had gorgeous waiters. ‘Dating’ was so far off the chart that she didn’t even think about it, but enjoying random pieces of eye candy was not something she was averse to.

This particular morning her croissant had long since been reduced to a few lonely crumbs on a plate, and she was slowly sipping the last of her coffee, thinking that she really ought to get going since she was running late by now, when a shadow fell across her table. She looked up and saw a tall, dark haired man standing by the table, flashing a wide flawless grin at her as he pulled off his sunglasses.

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt your privacy, but... you look like you could do with a friend.”

“I do?” she asked stupidly, trying not to be overawed by his quite unfeasibly good looks and perfectly tailored clothes. He looked like some matinee idol who’d stepped into real life - a Forties Hollywood movie star, right down to the accent.

“Call it a sixth sense,” he smiled, and then indicated the chair opposite her. “Do you mind?”

“I... guess not,” she replied, still thrown. It wasn’t that guys didn’t try to chat her up on a fairly regular basis, but there was something about this one that was... _different._

A waiter sidled up, and the stranger ordered an espresso in fluent Italian - and then, to her surprise, leisurely let his eyes follow the youngster’s retreating back.

“I’m sorry - but did you just check out his ass?” she asked, belatedly realising that this was a rather rude question, but the lingering stare had been so blatant that she couldn’t help herself. The stranger caught her eyes and chuckled. 

“M-_hm_. Italian waiters - couldn’t you just eat them up? They’re dangerous though, because they’re _very_ addictive - you keep just wanting one more, and before you know it you can’t show your face in a single café in town without some guy declaring how you broke his heart.” 

He shrugged, smiling wryly. “Ten years later of course they were all married and overweight, which almost broke _my_ heart - not the marriage bit, the weight thing. _Such_ a waste, and very inconsiderate towards the wives. Anyway - I’ve sworn off them for good now.”

Buffy wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not, but at least she had managed to establish that he was far from ordinary. Maybe he even meant the ‘friendship’ thing... and wasn’t every woman supposed to have a (male) gay best friend these days? All she had was Andrew, and he didn’t count. But this guy - he wasn’t effeminate at all, but his orientation would certainly explain his style...

“So, you’re gay?” she asked, and he looked at her, surprised.

“What gave you that idea?”

“Um... because you said you... sleep with guys like him?”

She indicated the waiter who had returned with the espresso, and the stranger drawled out a lazy “Grazie”, holding the waiter’s eyes for a little longer than entirely necessary. The young man smiled back, dark eyes promising and inviting.

Turning back to his cup, her new friend shook his head. “See? Addiction. Very bad. But, no, I’m not ‘gay’ or ‘straight’ or... anything you can put in a neat little labelled box.” 

Amusement danced in his eyes, as though the notions of sexual orientation were sweetly old-fashioned concepts and he found it endearing that she still used such quaint expressions. “I thought that that was widely known... Oh - but I never introduced myself!” 

Putting down the cup he held out his hand. “Sorry for being so impolite - I’m The Immortal.”

For a moment that seemed endless she could only stare at him. He had looked so _human_, so _normal_ \- except for the charm and the looks and the... OK, so he’d been too good to be true. Figured.

As though in a daze she reached out and grasped his hand, and, as if to spite her, it felt warm and alive and not at all wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing-y.

“You’re a demon,” she said, deciding to get it over with and just move on. She hoped he was a nice demon, and not one she’d have to kill. 

He let go of her hand and shook his head, eyes narrowing as though he was trying to figure her out - and then suddenly glanced behind her. 

She frowned, and he swiftly caught her eyes again. “Sorry - football results on the back of a newspaper. Where was I? Oh yes, you asked if I was a demon. I’m not. Really, _really_ not. Just immortal. You’ve never heard of me?”

She shook her head, and he looked a little put out. “Guess it _has_ been a while since I was in town last... and I presume you’re not exactly a local girl. So tell me - who _are_ you?” 

“I’m Buffy - Buffy Summers.”

“Buffy...” He considered this, picking up his drink. “Unusual name. I like it!”

He really was _impossibly_ charming, blue eyes twinkling at her over the edge of the cup. And, despite herself, she couldn’t help but being drawn in, even though she knew that if she was attracted to him, the chances of him being evil were rather overwhelming. Although... maybe third time lucky? (Not that she was going to date him, obviously, _but_...) She could get Andrew to do some research - it might even get him to shut up about that stupid meteor crash and his inane theories about government conspiracies covering up martians - at least for a little while.

Then her cellphone rang, and she found herself reminded - somewhat sharply - that she was late for her meeting. Again she wondered at the illogical fact that there being lots of Slayers had brought with it _more_ work for her, not less. She sighed, and studied the man at the other side of the table. Giving him her phone number would imply so much more than she was ready to give, so what to do... 

“Look - I’m sorry, but I have to run. But it was nice... _really_ nice... meeting you! Maybe we’ll run into each other again?”

He appeared to hesitate for a moment, but then reached inside his jacket, bringing out an elegant card.

“OK - this is just a spur-of-the-moment thing, but I’m throwing a party on Friday, and you’re _more_ than welcome to come along. These are my details - if you have any questions, just call. I’m... not home much, but my servants will be happy to tell you anything you might want to know.”

“Um... thank you,” she replied, surprised and unsure how to respond. He had _servants_? So he wasn’t just handsome, charming and immortal, but also rich - this was verging dangerously close to fairy tale territory. But she still took the card and put it in her purse - fairy tales were few and far between. In her head there were lots of conflicting voices, some (that sounded suspiciously like Willow) telling her to get out and have some fun, others telling her that she was insane for being drawn in by yet another otherworldly creature... (Xander this time, and no mistake)

Yet she couldn’t help smiling back as he said good-bye. (He had _dimples_. No man - immortal or not - had the right to be that effortlessly adorable.) It was only as she was walking down the road a little later - her Slayer reflexes coming in very handy when trying to dodge the traffic - that she began wondering why he had targeted her in the first place... If there was anything she’d learned in her life, it was that someone called ‘The Immortal’ wouldn’t just sit down and chat up a Slayer because she looked like she needed a friend.

***

Jack watched as the young woman walked down the street, yet again wondering why he could never help himself. He was only here to _work_, dammit - pull a spaceship apart as quickly as possible so he could get back to Torchwood. But... the intriguing Miss Summers was clearly something special - tiny and delicate, elfin even, but with a quiet self-assurance that one didn’t come across every day - or even every decade. _Buffy_. An unusual name for an unusual girl.

When he was sure that she was gone for good, he got up and quietly walked over to a different table, causing the nondescript man already sitting there to look up over his newspaper. Jack smiled.

“I hope you’ll pardon me for interrupting, but I have a few questions - most specifically: Who is Buffy Summers that she warrants her own Private Eye?”

The man looked at him as if he was insane, but Jack just kept smiling and sat down, leisurely taking another sip of his espresso.

“Oh you’re good - excellent even - only as it happens I can spot people like you a mile off. Also your camera isn’t as invisible as you think.”

He reached over the table and pulled the compact digital camera out of the stunned man’s pocket. 

“Cute model. But - despite my poster boy looks - I don’t like having my picture taken.”

Swiftly he deleted all the photos, then handed it back. “Also notice how I didn’t break it - I’m a very reasonable guy, and I don’t believe in taking out my frustration on inanimate objects.”

The detective was now staring at him, brain clearly working in overdrive trying to work out how to deal with the situation. Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“So talk or... I’ll _make_ you talk! What’s special about her?”

There was now a visible struggle within the other man. 

“I can’t...”

“Oh yes you can. Because if you don’t tell me what I want to know, you’ll wake up in a gondola in Venice in a monkey suit with the last three years of your life wiped from your memory. That is, of course, the pleasant option. I am The Immortal, as I’m sure you overheard - look me up if you’re curious. Until then, take my word for it that I can do _anything_ I like. So you might as well talk, because I’ll get my answers one way or another. What’s the deal with Buffy?”

Jack’s smile turned frosty as he held the other man’s eyes. Often he hated himself for being the sort of man for whom intimidation was as natural as breathing, but it really did come in handy. Thankfully this man appeared smart enough to recognise when the game was up.

“She is a Slayer.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “A Slayer? _Really_?”

He’d never met a Slayer before. Heard of them of course, but Slayers were rare and precious, and usually only found in troublesome spots - which suddenly made him frown. What was going on in Rome to warrant the Slayer being there? Surely his servants would have told him of any imminent danger - but then on the other hand they might think that he already knew.

“Why is she here?” he asked, and the detective seemed surprised. “She lives here - has done for more than half a year now. She... she shares a flat with her sister, not far from here.”

“So... the one and only Slayer in the world decides to move to Rome for no particular reason? You’re are going to have to do a _lot_ better I’m afraid.” 

And all he’d wanted was to talk to the cute lonely girl... he sighed, then noticed that the other man was staring at him, puzzled.

“_One_ Slayer? There are six here in Rome alone.”

“Six Slayers?” This was too impossible for words, and yet the man couldn’t be lying - no one was stupid enough to lie about something like that. Jack looked at the detective, eyes narrowing.

“Who do you work for?”

A slight hesitation, then dropped eyes. “I... I don’t know.”

“Really?” Jack quirked an eyebrow - this was getting ridiculous.

“Honestly! I just make my reports of what Miss Summers does, and who she sees, that is all. I was told that my employer only wants to protect her.”

“Hmm...” Jack finished off his espresso as he turned the situation over in his mind. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Slayers didn’t need protecting. Something was up. 

He got a few more details out of the reluctant detective, but knew that he had to be on his way - and he had enough information now to continue any research himself.

“Look, I’d... _appreciate_ it if you will keep my name out of your reports - at least until I figure out what’s going on.” He reached into his pocket for another card, then found a pen and scribbled his mobile phone number on it, before pulling out a handsome number of notes from his wallet and handing both card and money over.

“Here are my details. If you need to talk to me - call anytime. Especially if you find out who you’re working for. I’m not so sure their motives are benign.”

It was only as he walked towards the house of the Riithan Clan that it occurred to him that he’d invited a Slayer to a party where most of the guests were demons. 

He grinned. This could turn out - _interesting._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party time! With... unexpected notes, shall we say.

_Buffy: So, not the wicked energy, which is nice 'cause I don't want to only be attracted to wicked energy. Or what if he is wicked, in which case, is that why I'm attracted to him?_

**Friday 2nd of April, evening**

It really was a beautiful house. Not as large or ostentatious as Villa Borghese or any of those buildings, but the Rome Slayer Headquarters could probably easily fit inside a couple of times at least. The windows shone in the early evening dusk, soft music streamed out through the open door, and it really did seem to have popped right out of a fairy tale. 

The taxi drove away and Buffy shot Dawn a nervous glance, but Dawn’s face only registered delight. 

“Wow. This place looks _amazing_. I hope Andrew is right about how great these parties are - considering how he’s not shut up about them.”

Buffy sighed. “You know, I think Giles sent Andrew to Rome just to punish me for wanting to live somewhere nice and warm.”

Dawn chuckled as they started walking towards the door. “On the plus side he _is_ good at research.”

“Reading The Immortal’s book 5 times in 4 days isn’t _research_, it’s obsession. I swear he was thinking of using a glamour and going instead of me.” 

Watchers weren’t supposed to crush on their Slayer’s morally ambiguous date - especially when they’d never even seen him. 

Not that this was a date of course. 

Dawn shrugged. “Well, at least he stopped talking about the meteor crash.”

Buffy shook her head, yet again quelling her feelings of violence towards Andrew. “I think I preferred the crazy theories about aliens. Hey - we should have sent him out to investigate. He might have been abducted!”

At the door a deferential doorman relieved them of their coats before showing them through to the party itself, and they found themselves in a long, beautiful ballroom lit by ornate chandeliers, half full of people and demons in elegant outfits; dancing, chatting, and helping themselves to a generous and varied selection of food. In a corner there was a raised platform on which there was a small string quartet, playing softly.

Dawn’s eyes had grown huge, and Buffy did her best to appear as though she did this sort of thing on a regular basis. She was absurdly grateful that they’d dressed up.

Then The Immortal appeared - easily outshining everyone and everything else and being, if possible, even more charming than she remembered. She told herself that this was probably because he was now dressed in a gorgeously cut black suit and wearing a bow tie; again so Hollywood that it seemed ridiculous for him to be here in Rome.

“Buffy! You came. Welcome.” He enthusiastically shook her hand and then his eyes travelled to Dawn, smile deepening.

“And who are _you_?” he asked, holding out his hand as he did some more of that shameless flirting, and Buffy began to realise that her idea of bringing Dawn as chaperone/back-up might just have misfired spectacularly. Dawn was a whole four inches taller than herself these days, and seemed to consist of nothing except legs and chest - what _had_ been going through those monks’ heads when they’d created her? 

“This is Dawn - my _little sister_,” she replied, imbuing her voice with as much ‘Back off Buster!’-ness as she possibly could. “I spoke to someone on the phone - your housekeeper I think - and she said that it was OK to bring her.”

“Oh definitely. _Very_ pleased to meet you Dawn.” 

And pleased he certainly looked, before he suddenly he shot Buffy a shrewd look.

“You don’t come as a pair by any chance? I once dated these twin acrobats-”

She stared at him speechlessly, and he did what probably for him passed for a shamefaced look. “...obviously _not_. Won’t go there again.”

Dawn however was giggling, shaking her head. “Oh my god! You are unbe_lie_vable.”

“Oh I’m _very_ believable,” he replied with a wink. Buffy rolled her eyes - Dawn was clearly a lost cause, so it was up to Buffy to keep a level head... She looked around the room, meaning to compliment him on the set-up, and then suddenly froze.

“You have _vampires_ at your party?”

An apologetic expression came over his face.

“Well... I didn’t know you were a Slayer when I invited you. And it’d be a little impolite to un-invite them.”

She could feel her jaw drop. “You didn’t know I was a Slayer? But - but why did you talk to me?”

For just a moment the brashness fell off him - like an invisible gossamer veil had been dropped. “Because you looked lonely,” he said simply, and in his soft smile she glimpsed something none of her research had hinted at. But then the twinkle came back into his eyes as he added: “And you are pretty hot, in case it had escaped your notice!”

“O-_kay_...” she said weakly, too put out to say anything else. She’d been wondering for days what his motivations had been - if this party was some elaborate trap or if he just wanted to add a Slayer to his conquests... She had never considered the possibility that he had quite simply just liked _her_ \- she didn’t really know how to deal with that.

“And don’t worry about the vampires, they’ll behave. I _know_ I shouldn’t have them around, what with the whole evil soulless thing, but they kinda make up for that by being pretty spectacular in bed - stamina, inventiveness, _no_ inhibitions - seriously, the list just goes on and on.”

He suddenly seemed to realise that they were both staring at him in wide-eyed silence, and he with great exaggeration closed his mouth.

“Slayer. Sister of Slayer. Not big with the vampire-lovin’. I - seem to have shot myself rather successfully in the foot.”

There was a rustle by the door, and The Immortal’s eyes drifted past them to the new arrival.

“And - I see that I need to go be The Welcoming Host. Catch up with you later - until then, just enjoy yourselves. Oh, and please don’t kill anyone unless they try to kill you first, OK?”

He grinned, and then turned the newcomer behind them. 

“Jemmella! And how are _you_? I swear your tusks have grown a whole inch since we last met.”

Curbing her intense curiosity, Buffy grabbed Dawn’s elbow and steered her towards the buffet.

“This was _such_ a bad idea,” she muttered under her breath, and Dawn shook her head in disbelief.

“Are you kidding? He’s amazing! And obviously _very_ open minded.”

Ignoring the implications of Dawn’s words, Buffy grabbed a glass of wine and some food and tried to escape into a corner to work out what to think. He hadn’t known that she was a Slayer... it threw all her assumptions to hell, and she’d have to start from scratch again. 

But she was cut off from her retreat by an elegantly dressed demon, who looked at her with unnerving unblinking pale green eyes in a slightly darker pale green face, which emerged from a medium green embroidered robe - it was a bit like being stared down by a grassy field.

“Buffy? Buffy Summers? The Slayer? This is a most extraordinarily fortuitous coincidence, since we have been considering sending your organisation a missive concerning the interests of the Riithan Clan. We are a very peaceful family, but if it were possible to somehow affect an actual peace contract with the Slayers, this would install much calm amongst my people...”

Soon she was surrounded by eight different demons, all curious about her and eager to get on the good side of the Slayers. She suddenly wished she had brought Andrew, since, despite all his flaws, she had to admit that he was very good at ‘being the Watcher’. He’d have had them all eating out of his hand in moments; quoting Council directives, explaining codes of conduct and archaic rules.

After about 10 minutes, wondering if she’d ever escape and shooting murderous glances towards Dawn who looked like she was having a great time with some young half demons - if their bursts of laughter was anything to go by - The Immortal came to her rescue.

Deftly parting her from her inquirers by asking for a dance, he apologised profusely as he led her out amongst the other dancing couples.

“I’m _so_ sorry - I should have told them not to bother you. Guess they’re just excited to see a Slayer in a... _neutral_ situation.”

His hand rested lightly against the small of her back, and she was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was actually dancing - it had been so long that she had problems remembering the last time. She couldn’t help noticing how very _tall_ he was, and that he smelled very good indeed. And he was clearly a _great_ dancer...

Wait - she had to use the opportunity to get him to talk.

“So, how did you find out that I was a Slayer?”

A chuckle and another shrewd look. “Well, when you heard my name you instantly jumped to the conclusion that I was a demon. Most people just think it’s a joke. I figured there had to be more to you than met the eye.”

_‘You’re one to talk!’_ she wanted to shoot back, except that what met the eye was pretty spectacular...

“What did you discover then?” she asked lightly, as she suddenly began worrying about how thorough his research had been, and what was said about her on the demonic grapevine.

He shrugged. “Not much to be honest - I’ve been too busy. Just managed to dig out a few basic facts: You are Buffy Anne Summers, lately of Sunnydale, California, which is now - interestingly - a giant crater; you’re a legend in your own time and the woman who - so it is said - activated all the Slayers in the world.”

“There was an apocalypse,” she explained - a little curtly, since she was not going into _that_ story - and he nodded, obviously familiar with such events. “Instant army - although somewhat widespread I presume? Good strategy nonetheless. You’ve certainly shaken up the demon population.”

She smiled at the compliment, and for a moment allowed herself to just enjoy the sensation of dancing. Trying to sweet talk him would probably be a waste of time, since she had a feeling she’d end up telling more secrets than he. All she needed to know was whether he was evil or not, which was turning out to be a lot more complicated that she’d thought.

(What to do if he turned out to be a good guy was an entirely different question - one that she did her best to pretend didn’t exist.)

Before she had settled on a strategy for determining his rating on her evil-o-meter, a very polite three-eyed demon in a tuxedo cut in, and given the circumstances she felt unable to decline. Although part of her was panicking - what was she doing? Being on ‘friendly’ terms with demons was one thing, but _dancing_...

She extracted herself as soon as diplomatically possible, saying that she was hungry (which wasn’t a lie), and then spent a good while trying to pretend that she was a part of the buffet table. 

What was she doing here? She watched The Immortal talk, laugh and dance, lighting up the room wherever he turned, and she wondered. The term ‘the life and soul of the party’ really could have been made up for his sake, she thought (and maybe it had been? You never knew with these immortal types). Now and again Dawn would appear next her, repeating how this party was _‘totally awesome!’_ before disappearing off again. Buffy wished she could be that carefree - but she knew that _she_ couldn’t just frolic away. Sometimes she really hated having lots of Slayers looking up to her, and for her actions to have to be above board. Being responsible was boring.

Her musings were interrupted when, for some reason she didn’t catch, the guests started chanting, “A song! A song!” The Immortal grinned and with faux-modesty got up on the dais in front of the band, which had, without Buffy noticing, metamorphosised into a jazz group. She made her way to the back of the crowd - praying that this wouldn’t turn into Demon Karaoke Night - and, seeing her, Dawn came over. But before she could speak (although it’d probably just be another ‘awesome party’) The Immortal grabbed the microphone:

“So, what would you like? Let’s start with some Glenn Miller - can’t go wrong there. Any suggestions?”

“Moonlight Serenade!” Dawn called out, and he caught her eyes before shaking his head.

“No. Unspoken house rule, that you couldn’t know - _never_ ‘Moonlight Serenade’.”

Seeing the confusion on Dawn’s face, he smiled a little. “Think Casablanca. But - let’s have ‘Serenade in Blue’ instead. Will that do?”

Dawn nodded, and then the band started playing - the tune doleful and slow. A saxophone rose above the other instruments in melancholy loneliness, but then The Immortal began singing, his voice a clear, rich baritone, and the last of the chatter died away.

_When I hear that serenade in blue_  
_I'm somewhere in another world, alone with you_

Buffy felt herself drift off into another world of her own as he sent her a dazzling smile - he had undone the bow tie and opened the top buttons of his shirt, and there was something utterly spellbinding about this impossibly handsome man, with the voice of an angel...

“Are we sure this isn’t a love spell?” she whispered to Dawn, and Dawn bit her lip. 

“Well apparently he never uses magic. And it can’t be the jacket, ‘cause he’s taken that off.”

The thought of JD made Buffy smile, but there was something about the music that stirred her subconscious. She wasn’t sure what, so she stopped talking and focussed on The Immortal and his singing again, utterly unprepared for the last few lines.

_And then the song became a sigh_  
_Forever more became good-bye_  
_But you remained in my heart, so_  
_Tell me darling is there still a spark?_  
_Or only lonely ashes of the flame we knew..._

The words blindsided her, and she suddenly felt her chest constricting - the pain that she was getting so much better at living with cutting through her, and for a moment the world dipped out of existence as all she could see were hands enveloped in fire.

Dimly she felt Dawn touching her arm.

“Buffy? Are you OK?”

“I’m - I’m fine,” she said, but Dawn just _looked_ at her and then steered her away from the group, which was now applauding, and into a side room before sitting her down. 

“I’m really pathetic, huh?” Buffy said, but Dawn just looked concerned which made it all worse. 

It was just that she really couldn’t cope with fire anymore, not even metaphorical - oh god he had _burned_ to death...

She could hear The Immortal start on another song, and wondered what on earth she was doing, mooning over a pretty boy. Except of course he was far more than that. He was The Immortal, and every source they’d found in the last few days had said the same thing - he was perfect. She frowned. _Too_ perfect? There had to be something wrong, something off... She’d had a whisper of a recollection of a memory before she’d been overwhelmed with... things that were now gone. She knew she had to concentrate on the here and now or she’d drown all over again. The song - there had been something about the song...

Seeing that Dawn was about to speak up she shushed her with a hand, closing her eyes and concentrating the way Giles had taught her - trying to cut out everything that wasn’t the song. Serenade in Blue, where _had_ she heard it before? Somewhere different, but similar... someone singing to an adoring crowd...

Then the memory snapped into place and she gasped. 

_Jonathan!_ Jonathan - perfect, centre-of-the-world-Jonathan - and _oh_... it all made sense.

“Dawn,” she asked carefully. “Do you remember when Jonathan did that spell that made him Super!Jonathan?”

Her sister thought for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I had his book, I got you to ask him to sign it...”

Then her mouth fell open as they both recalled Andrew begging them to take his copy of The Immortal’s book to the party so he could sign it.

“Do you think that _he_-?” Dawn asked, shooting a look towards the main ballroom where they could now hear more applause. “He’s not... I mean he’s not _famous_ famous like Jonathan was...”

Buffy bit her lip, brain working hard. “Jonathan was a geeky, maladjusted teenager, living out a fantasy. This guy is probably twice his age and _smart_...”

It was of course all just speculation, but - if it was true, _everything_ fit. All she needed was proof. Pulling out her cellphone from her purse she dialled Giles’ number.

“Giles? I’m _really_ sorry about calling so late, but I need you to look something up... and no I can’t ask Andrew. It’s about Jonathan.”

When she hung up she could feel Dawn studying her. “You know, you’re like the most cynical, pessimistic person ever.”

“I’m not, I’m just... cautious.”

And, she thought to herself, she knew that if something was too good to be true, it usually was. Whenever she got near a fairy tale she almost died.

Thankfully Giles was quick. The Immortal had taken a break from singing, but Buffy heard Jemella - thank goodness he’d not done an ‘open mike’ thing, Jemella would have had the house in ruins - say something about Champagne being good for his vocal chords, and figured they were safe for a while.

Then the cell bleeped, and she saw a message from Teresa, Giles’ indispensable secretary. She had very helpfully attached pictures of both the telltale symbol and the ugly beast, as well as some general notes on the nature of the spell. Buffy read through the notes before studying the brute, trying to remember if they’d heard of any maulings lately and telling Dawn - who was trying to get her attention - to be quiet, when there was suddenly a voice in her ear.

“OK now _that_ is just gross! What it is?”

She turned and saw The Immortal peering over her shoulder at the image displayed on the screen. 

“It’s... a side effect,” she answered, as she tried to gather herself, “from a spell.”

“Really?” He wrinkled his nose. “See this exactly is why I never use magic - there’s always some sort of nasty catch. Why would anyone want a thing like that running around?”

She turned around, then caught his eyes and held them. Time to lay the cards on the table. “Because the spell makes the person who casts it the most _amazing_ person in the world.”

It took a few seconds, but then she saw understanding dawn.

He smiled slowly, dangerous shadows shimmering in his blue eyes. “Interesting. Come across it before?”

“A - someone I knew tried it a few years ago, and it would have ended really badly if I hadn’t stopped it.”

The Immortal nodded slowly, stroking his chin. “I see. How did you work it out?”

“He had a mark on him, same as the beast.” She flicked the picture onto the screen and held it up. “On his shoulder.”

She held The Immortal’s eyes and wondered what he’d do. She remembered Jonathan’s ridiculous swimsuit calendar, but this guy - despite his underground fame - did not have his face, or body, depicted anywhere at all. As if he was trying to exist mostly as a rumour... 

But he didn’t begin to make excuses as she’d half-expected. Instead he suddenly smiled, as if trying not to laugh, and pulled off his bow tie before beginning to unbutton his shirt. Buffy felt she ought to say something, but... 

A moment later he tossed the shirt over a chair, then put his hands on his hips - clearly posing.

“Which shoulder did you say? Would you like a little twirl?”

He turned, and he clearly had no marks or tattoos of any kind on his _very_ well toned body. The look in his eyes was pure cheekiness and unadulterated self-confidence, and he grinned as he continued:

“Of course I could have put this mark on a... _different_ part of my body - do you want to check?”

His thumbs went into the side of his pants, and Buffy quickly shook her head.

“No that’s - that’s fine. I... believe you.”

“Sure?” he asked, and somehow he managed to imbue the word with a whole plethora of innuendoes.

Dawn cleared her throat - a little too loudly - and when she spoke there was a wobble to her voice that Buffy didn’t like at all.

“You... really don’t have a problem with nudity, huh?”

He shook his head, laughing. “None whatsoever!”

Then his serious face re-emerged. “But. I am who I say I am, and this-” a wide hand sweep that incorporated the whole house and all that it contained and represented, “-is all real.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “So you just _happen_ to be drop dead gorgeous, charming, rich, funny, talented...”

“Indeed I do!” Smug didn’t begin to cover it, and yet somehow it didn’t chafe. How did he _do_ that? 

She was silent for a moment. Still, there was one question left.

“And the immortality? You say you’re not a demon and that you never use magic, so how did you...”

Her voice trailed off, not really knowing how to continue. If he’d found some fountain of youth, he’d certainly not just tell some random Slayer about it. 

Silently he picked up his shirt and shrugged into it before buttoning up again. Then he lifted his head, and she was stunned to realise that she recognised the look in his eyes - a deep weariness mixed with resignation. Finally he spoke.

“I never chose to be immortal.”

She stared at him mutely, as another Jonathan-memory resurfaced. He had accused her of having it all, and she’d been stunned and angry at how he’d taken the surface of her life as the whole story. Opening her mouth to speak, she was cut short when there was a polite knock on the door, and then it was opened, revealing a deferential servant.

“Pardon me master, but His Eminence Knth-Rath’m’Rk has decided that it is the time for leaving for him and requests that you might bid him farewell.”

“Of course,” The Immortal said, grabbing the undone bow tie and trailing it around his neck as before. He stopped in the doorway and caught Buffy’s eyes, looking the very picture of elegant nonchalance, hands in his pockets and face in three quarter profile. “_You_ will stay a little longer, won’t you?”

“Yes I... yes we will,” she answered, and he grinned. “Good! Because I think once His Eminence has left it might be time for some games...”

Then he walked out, and Buffy buried her face in her hands.

“Buffy?” Dawn asked, and Buffy shook her head. “He doesn’t make sense. At _all_. Why can’t he be evil? _That_ I know how to deal with.”

But she wasn’t about to give up trying to figure him out - especially now she’d seen a little of what lay beneath the mask. 

Heading back to the party they soon found themselves involved in an absorbing game of truth or dare - and Buffy noticed that she and The Immortal were the only ones to choose ‘dare’ every time. Thankfully the other guests were too intimidated to dare her to do anything embarrassing, so it was all nicely simple things like throwing knives blindfolded and bending steel bars.

Although in The Immortal’s case his choice might not be an out-and-out avoidance of truth telling, since he so obviously relished the dares. And despite the tiny glimpses of a more serious man beneath the glad exterior, his enjoyment of the festivities was clearly not fake - the reason he threw parties was because he liked them, of that there was no doubt.

As the night wore on the crowd thinned, and finally there were only eleven of them left, curled up on three large plush sofas listening to a never ending stream of incredible tales told with great skill and many gestures by their host. Whether they were fact or fiction - or some blend - was impossible to ascertain (of course he claimed that every word was true, but he _would_ do that), and Buffy had not been this entertained in a long, long time - considering the life she’d led it took a lot to make her shake her head and exclaim ‘I don’t _believe_ it!’

Uncurling herself from the sofa as morning neared, trying to get some feeling back in her legs, Buffy thought to herself that if anything the party had been _more_ extraordinary than the tales had implied. Whatever he was, The Immortal sure knew how to have a good time. 

As she shook his hand a little later, saying good-bye and trying not to sound too clichéd, he suddenly stopped her and asked if he could just speak with her in private for a minute.

When they were alone he smiled, of all things appearing nervous, which was not something she’d expected him capable of.

“Look - I’m only here for a month or two and... I’d really like to see you again.”

She didn’t quite know how to respond, so picked the first thing that came to mind. “So... you’re not offended that I accused you of being a big fake then?”

“Offended?” he echoed, surprised. “Oh no. I’m very flattered to be honest. And impressed of course.”

“Impressed?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

He studied her for a long moment before replying - and even then his words were slow and careful. “I’ve been watching you tonight, watching me - studying me. Slayers are usually described as killers, which I always figured was a rather narrow-minded view. Anyone can kill - that part’s simple. But determining the level of danger, deciding what makes an ‘acceptable’ risk - that’s the part where it gets hard. Most people just follow the rules, but _you_...” his eyes narrowed, “you don’t accept what you see, and you trust your intuition - trying to find the truth, no matter what, and then you act on it. That’s very rare.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, since he’d pulled the night’s dilemma right out of her mind and she was getting rather freaked out. But there was something about the way he said it, like he spoke from personal experience...

Before she could ask, he handed her a slip of paper. “Here’s my mobile number - I’ve _always_ got my phone with me. Just... promise you’ll think about calling, OK?”

She nodded, and he smiled again, all bright eyes and dimples and breathtaking charm. It was very distracting, and she forgot what she was going to say.

But as he led her out of the room, a warm hand cupping her elbow, he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

“You weren’t right tonight with your clever little theory. But you weren’t entirely wrong either...”

She turned, shocked, but he just winked, as enigmatic as ever, and then Dawn dragged her out to the waiting taxi. Buffy followed, too thrown and absorbed by his words to do much more than nod along to Dawn’s happy monologue.

_‘She’d not been wrong’_... what did that _mean_? She really, _really_ couldn’t figure him out - he was unlike anyone else she’d ever come across. Clearly he was not a conformist, but neither could he be labelled an outsider or a rebel - he seemed to regard rules as nothing more than vague guidelines, to be followed or ignored on a whim. 

And he’d given her his cellphone number and paid her one of the oddest - and most unnervingly insightful - compliments she’d ever been given. Apparently he genuinely wanted to see her again. What to do?

***

The servants were beginning to clear up, and, seeing how they obviously wanted him out of the way, Jack made his way up to his office, grabbing his triple-locked case containing his latest missive from Torchwood on the way. Suzie really was incredibly scrupulous in her duties, and made sure to send him all the paperwork that needed his personal attention.

Sighing he set to work, wanting it finished so he could drop it into a mailbox when he was going back to the Ettian craft after breakfast - Rome was obviously good for his work ethic.

But his mind kept wandering back to Buffy and their confrontation. She had been so utterly fearless - completely sure of herself and her authority, plainly not even remotely considering the possibility that he could get the better of her. He wondered if she had been able to sense just how thoroughly she had affected him in that moment. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have been very tempted to ask her if maybe she came from Gallifrey... unless of course the righteous hero stuff was a Doctor specialty, and not a Time Lord thing. Whatever the case, Buffy also had it to overflowing, and he knew that he was utterly helpless against it - especially considering how very brilliant she was. 

See hero, will follow. 

But he’d played the part long enough himself to understand the strain and the loneliness. If just... if he could just somehow win her trust. This particular alias was not the best one for that purpose, he thought ruefully, although they could have so much _fun_ if she came round!

Sighing deeply he stared at the quarterly budget again. Was he just imagining it, or were all the figures higher than when he’d been looking at them just over a week previously? Suzie had apparently decided to increase spending, but she probably had good reason - Suzie always did. Logic all the way, that was his Suzie - unlike a certain other woman... 

_Surely_ she’d call? He really wasn’t very good at the conventional ‘dating’ thing - all those unwritten rules that changed every decade or so were difficult to keep up with, and sitting around waiting for a girl to call was just frustrating and distracting and... _unsatisfying._

Stupid 21st century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can listen to Serenade in Blue [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGAgEy02kRk).
> 
> Also I've been meaning to say that I love hearing from my readers, so please chat if you feel like it. Rambling encouraged. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like bonding over a ritual sacrifice and death...

_Jack: I have died so many times. Been dragged back into life, like being hauled over broken glass._  
~  
_Buffy: Everything here is... hard, and bright, and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch... this is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that... knowing what I've lost..._

**Sunday 4th April, 5.15 am**

Buffy didn’t relish being woken by the phone - especially not when it was still dark outside. Head fuzzy with sleep she finally managed to switch on the light and answer the increasingly insistent bleeping.

“Bella?” she asked, having glanced at the phone as she picked it up, and then had an earful of semi-broken English that she slowly managed to unravel.

Bella - very recently called Slayer, who’d only just been granted lone patrol status - had in her zealousness checked every demon bar in her entire district, and overheard some weirdly dressed demons discuss what might be a ritual sacrifice. She’d followed them until they got in a car and drove off, leaving her stranded - so she’d called Buffy.

“OK...” Buffy replied, head slowly clearing, “but where did they go?”

Bella, who was a very conscientious and studious girl, explained that she recognised the symbols on the demons’ robes, and maybe if they called Mr Wells he’d be able to do a locator spell of some sort?

Groaning at the ‘Mr Wells’ Buffy had to concede that this was a good idea.

“Listen - you call Andrew and tell him everything you just told me, and I’ll get to you and we’ll go deal with this together, OK?”

Bella’s relief was obvious, and, after getting her location, Buffy said goodbye. Grumbling under her breath about the unsociable hours that demons kept, she pulled on some jeans, a warm top and her most sensible boots, before gathering her hair in a ponytail and choosing a coat. Quickly she scribbled a note for Dawn, then grabbed the Scythe, her helmet and keys. 

As always she smiled when she saw her pale blue moped - Rome was _huge_, and it was quite simply not possible to run everywhere the way she had in Sunnydale. The moped was the perfect solution - and also far cuter and smaller than a car.

The cool pre-dawn air woke her very effectively, and she only got lost once which was probably a new record. Feeling happy and alert she grinned to Bella as she drew up beside her, and soon they were on their way to their destination. Buffy would have to remember to tell Andrew thanks - he was good at his job when he didn’t get distracted.

Parking the moped a little way off they silently tiptoed towards the warehouse (why always empty warehouses, she wondered) and quickly found a side door. Putting her hand on it, she realised that it was slightly ajar. Either these were some of the sloppiest demons she’d ever come across, or something was up... then she heard a voice, and, frowning, gently pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted her made her gasp. In the middle of the mostly empty room - beside an altar covered in a dark cloth and cluttered with candles, mystical artifacts and a large knife - stood The Immortal, looking impossibly rakish in what was apparently his standard outfit of black pants and white shirt, although this time the sleeves were rolled up. He had his hand around the neck of a corpulent spotted demon, and a gun aimed at a group of horned, thuggish red-skinned demons, fitting the description Bella had given.

“That’s it,” he said, voice low and dangerous as the red demons slowly lined up against the wall. “You try to move as much as an _inch_ and I blow you to pieces!”

Then he turned his head as her boots scraped on the floor, and his face suddenly lit up. “Buffy - excellent! I was just wondering whether I had to call for back-up.”

She blinked. “I’m _back-up?_”

He grinned at her, and then tightened the grip on the demon in his hand, who had attempted to speak.

“You don’t get to talk, creep! Although you would be able to confirm that this was my town first. But seriously - Buffy, do you think you could take care of...”

He nodded towards a dark corner, and Buffy suddenly realised that there was a sniffling sound. She and Bella ran across the floor and saw a young girl - maybe 7 or 8 years old - dressed up in some ceremonial robe and chained to the wall. Quelling her sudden bright fury and disgust Buffy quickly broke the chains, before helping the girl up. Bella began comforting her, the torrent of Italian too fast for Buffy to follow, but the girl gratefully clung to the other Slayer. Thinking fast, Buffy caught Bella’s attention.

“Can you ride a moped?”

“Si, si, of course, but I am too young...”

“Doesn’t matter. Only two can fit on, and as you know my Italian is... not so much.” She dug out her keys. “Here - take her back to Slayer headquarters, get Andrew to find out where she lives etcetera. I’ll stay here - I’m sure The Immortal could use a hand.”

Bella nodded and quickly escorted the girl out. Buffy followed them with her eyes, then looked up and saw The Immortal smiling at her grimly.

“Thank you. I _hate_ it when children are involved.” The vehemence in his voice was so sharp, that without asking she knew that this was a personal matter to him. 

One of the demons used the momentary distraction to make a run for it, but The Immortal’s head swivelled and without hesitation he fired. The bullet caught the creature in the back, and it collapsed screaming.

“I said _don’t move_!” he repeated, scanning the four demons still left. His eyes were cold and angry, and he looked... old. It was a look she knew far too well, and something clutched at her heart. Slowly he turned his gaze on the demon still grasped in his left hand, the sneer on his face deepening.

“And as for _you_...” He looked the demon over, and slowly shook his head. “If your grandfather could see you now, he would _spin_ in his mausoleum. To think that he once thought you might amount to something... Instead you’ve dragged your family name through the mud in ways he - thankfully - couldn’t have imagined.”

The demon tried speaking, but The Immortal wasn’t finished. “You know what the joke is? This was supposed to be my _holiday_ \- a little time off. No death and blood and pain and all the usual fucked-up mess. And then I get a phonecall, informing me that the grand-spawn of one of my oldest friends is about to have himself a little human sacrifice! And for what? To get money to pay back the loan sharks, because he squandered the family fortune. Trust me, you have no _idea_ the amount of pain I want to inflict on you!”

The demon rasped something that sounded like “loyrrrrs...” and The Immortal suddenly laughed joylessly and released his grip, causing the demon to collapse on the floor, gasping for air.

“Oh I know who your lawyers are, but they’re not the reason I’m going to let you go.” 

Buffy looked at him sharply. He was going to let the creep _go_? 

Smiling a smile as predatory as any she’d seen on a vampire, The Immortal looked down on the creature at his feet.

“You have no money, and therefore your lawyers couldn’t care less what happens to you. Gotta love Wolfram & Hart! And, if my source is correct, your loan shark is going to crucify you - possibly literally. Would ask for a ringside seat if I had the time.”

Taking a deep breath he lifted his face and cast a withering glance over the remaining demons by the wall. “You can leave. If I ever see you in this town again you’ll share your friend’s fate, understood?”

The demons nodded and scrambled for the exit as fast as their legs could carry them. With one last disgusted look The Immortal turned his back on the demon still on the floor and put away his gun, catching Buffy’s eyes as he did so.

“Have I mentioned how much I _hate_ magic?” He shuddered. “And although it is _very_ nice to see you again I wish it’d been under different circumstances. Despite your job description I can’t help thinking that less violence and more flowers-and-chocolate is the way to go.”

She stared at him silently. She’d spent most of Saturday turning the situation over in her head, trying to work out whether to call him or not - re-reading all the info Andrew had dug up, before he’d read The Immortal’s book and turned into a born-again worshipping moron. Because despite the fun and the charm - and the glimpses of a far different man beneath the facade - there were stories that told of something far darker. Looking at him now she could suddenly see the origin of these stories, and there was no doubting his ruthlessness. But... despite their somewhat differing methods they seemed to be on the same side. 

Her head busy trying to sort through all this new information, she noticed the movement too late. She called out, but the demon had already grabbed the knife from the altar, face twisted with fury, and in a single, too-fast-to-follow motion he had stabbed it through The Immortal’s back. 

As the blade came through his chest he looked down, face distorting in pain. 

“Oh crap!” 

Briefly he caught her eyes - torment and alarm staring back at her - and then he collapsed on the floor, revealing the demon behind him, hand still clutching the now-bloody knife.

Buffy reacted without thinking, and before the other had time to move the Scythe sliced through its neck. Then she fell to her knees beside The Immortal, turning him over on his back, desperately looking to see how bad the damage was - and realised that it was much too late.

His eyes were open and empty, his shirt soaked in blood. Swiftly she undid the buttons, but seeing the wound it was clear that the blade had gone straight through his heart. Almost choking she sat back on her heels, trying to understand what had happened. Wasn’t the whole _point_ of being immortal that he couldn’t die? She remembered fighting Spike when he had the Gem of Armarra, how he had laughed off fatal injuries... so how? Was this what he’d meant when he’d told her that she’d not been completely wrong? Although vampires were immortal until killed...

Swallowing against the lump in her throat she wondered if maybe she was cursed - anyone coming into contact with her was doomed to badness and a horrible death? He’d been... he’d been so full of life, so - _vibrant_. Despite being deeply conflicted about him, she was sure that the world was a worse place without him.

Slowly she reached out to close his eyes, grateful that at least she could do that much - having a body to bury was a luxury.

Then abruptly he gasped, flailing hands reaching up and grabbing her arm.

She almost cried out in alarm; but, as she looked into his eyes, two-and-a-half years suddenly crumbled into nothing. 

_Momentary pure wild terror - vertigo at life itself. Sudden rush of air into the lungs, desperate attempts at orientation..._

It couldn’t be...

Then his face contorted in agony, his fingers digging into her arms, before he laughed unsteadily... and the wound closed itself before her widening eyes.

“_Christ_ I hate being stabbed through the chest. All that blood, and my clothes get ruined every time.”

He tried to sit up and she helped stabilise him, turning him so he could lean against the altar. 

“Where did-” he waved an unsteady hand, and she nodded towards the body on the floor next to him.

“I decapitated him,” she answered, and a wide grin broke out on The Immortal’s face. “I should have started hanging out with Slayers a long time ago - most people just freak out over the death thing and when I wake up things are even worse than before.”

She looked at him, not meeting his smile, and unable to stop herself reached out and touched his chest - perfectly perfect again, as if never marred. “Is... is that how it works?” 

Sombre again, he nodded. “That’s how it works.” She could almost touch the pain in his eyes, and taking a slow, deep breath she finally asked: “Do you lose it every time?”

He frowned, studying her unsure. “Lose what?”

“Heaven.” Incredible that the word was still so hard to say.

For a moment he just stared at her, the pain on his face as sudden and acute as if she’d slapped him, then he looked away. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s no sitting around on clouds playing the harp. There’s just... nothing.” 

Bewildered she shook her head. “But there _is_ a heaven. I know, because I went there.”

This got his attention. “You... _what_?”

“I died, this one time. OK, I’ve died twice, but the second time was a lot more permanent - I was dead for like five months and... I think I was in heaven. I don’t know what else to call it... No clouds or anything like that, but I was... happy. Completely.”

He stared at her silently for a long while, and she couldn’t begin to guess at what thoughts passed through his head. Finally he asked, “But how - how did you come back to life?”

“My friends did a spell. The world needed a Slayer - and they missed me - so they brought me back.” It was less painful to remember now, and yet... “They didn’t really think it through. I... woke up in my coffin.”

She saw the dawning horror on his face as he took in the implications. “Oh my _god_... That’s... I’ve never done that. I mean I’ve been buried plenty of times - collapsing houses, and trenches, an avalanche once... but at least I was prepared for it, more or less.” 

He hesitated for a moment, the slowly asked: “How did you cope - with being back?”

She smiled a little as she shook her head. “I didn’t. Well I was quite good at keeping up a front, but it was so, so hard to keep going, and I did some... very self-destructive things. For a long time I just wanted to die again. I didn’t... I didn’t understand why I was alive. When I died I - I was ready for it. My life to save the world; seemed a good trade. And that was supposed to be it...”

The Immortal was staring at her, like he’d never seen her before. “I never - I never thought anyone else...” he swallowed, then suddenly looked around at the dirty bloody space they were sitting in, the early morning sun now falling through grimy windows.

“Let’s get out of here. You wanna come back to my place? Best breakfast in town.”

She nodded readily and gave him a hand up. He seemed more steady on his feet now, studying the dead body on the floor.

“I think I’ll just quietly let his family know where he is, and they can do what they want - unless it’ll interfere with your clean-up operation?”

She blinked. “My what?”

“Clean-up. You don’t have a team of some sort for getting rid of bodies?”

Mutely she shook her head, and he looked surprised, but then shrugged. “Anyway - thank you for offing him. Couldn’t do it myself, being a family friend and all that. To be honest they might even be pleased that he was killed by a Slayer - backwards demon logic and all that.” 

He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his face, before changing the subject. “Come on, my car’s parked round the back.”

She nodded and, after picking up the Scythe, fell into step with him as they walked across the half-empty space, tall craters looming in the corners, but after a short moment he shot her a sideways glance.

“Sorry about prying - and do tell me to go to hell if I’m overstepping some boundaries - but how did you die the first time? I mean... it’s not a question I’ve ever been able to ask before.”

“Vampire,” she replied, and to her surprise a wide grin broke out on his face.

“Really? My best death _ever_ was by vampire. Or vampir_es_, rather. Sure it hurts like hell when they first bite, but my _god_ the pay-off is worth it. Threesome of the century, definitely. Possibly of the millennium. ” 

She was staring at him, wide-eyed, desperately telling herself, over and over, _‘Don’t think about Angel, don’t think about Angel, don’t think about Angel...’_

Then his voice trailed off, and he studied her, puzzled.

“Wait - how did you come back from that?”

Doing her best to appear calm, she kept her eyes fixed on the door they were now nearing. “He only took a bite and then drowned me. One of my friends brought me back with CPR.”

“Oh.” He pulled a sympathetic face. “Drowning sucks. Seriously unpleasant way to die - all that water in your lungs...”

“Ruined my Spring Fling dress too,” she cut in, relishing the opportunity to just be able to _talk_, without worrying about being thought a freak. They’d reached the door, but instead of opening it he stopped and turned to her, eyes widening.

“_Spring Fling_ dress? How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

Slowly he shook his head, an expression she couldn’t read crossing his face.

“Of course, Slayers are called young... like that one you brought with you.” His eyes grew distant. “Too young - too young by far to fight. You can’t come back from that.”

She studied him silently, wondering what lay behind his words. He was old, no doubt about it, so did he see youngsters as epitomes of innocence? But then he slowly continued.

“I ran away from home to join the army when I was around that age. Talked my best friend into coming with me. It was supposed to be an adventure, a chance to pay back the bastards who-”

He stopped himself abruptly, but she could guess at what had happened. She’d not thought about the fact that he might have been a child once, not really given much thought to _who_ he was, only focussing on _what_. It struck her as very shallow all of a sudden. Silently she wondered what had happened to his home - or his family. Because there was a tragedy there, she'd bet her life on it.

Taking a deep, slow breath, he whispered, “He didn’t make it back...”

Instinctively she reached out and took his hand, and he clasped it gratefully, searching her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t normally do this at all - and I _never_ do it here. But then I’ve never met someone quite like you before.”

She smiled back lopsidedly. “Definitely ditto.”

They held each other’s eyes for a long moment, something indefinable being settled without words. 

Slowly he nodded. “Guess we could both do with a friend... But let’s get a move-on, there’s freshly made pastries waiting for us! Or there will be, as soon as I give Francesca a call.”

Pulling out his cellphone he shot her a dazzling smile, and then opened the door, the sudden brightness of sun and smile almost overwhelming.

***

Buffy rapidly decided that café breakfasts were a very poor and second-rate way of starting the day, compared to breakfasts served in The Immortal’s garden.

It was like something out of a Merchant Ivory film - a genre she was now very familiar with thanks to Dawn and Andrew’s Anglophilia - and she half-expected some prim English couple to arrive, apologising for their lateness and complaining about the dreadful heat of the Italian climate.

The drive back had been uneventful, the conversation easy and touching on a wide variety of unimportant subjects, but as she drained her coffee cup Buffy eyed up the man across from her. He was once more immaculately dressed in a bright white shirt - the only hint of the morning’s actions his hair which was still a little ruffled, if in a very dashing way. She dearly wished she’d chosen a more flattering outfit herself, but it was too late now - and he didn’t seem to mind in the least. So she tilted her head, determined to get an answer - because she was more curious than ever.

“Earlier...”

“Hm?” he replied, blue eyes smiling back.

“You said... that this was holiday. Away from... bad things...”

He carefully put down the cup he was holding and momentarily lowered his eyes.

“Ah. Now that’s the problem with liking smart people... although I’d probably have told you anyway. What with you being you.”

She leaned forward, trying to ignore the warm fuzzy feelings that his words invoked. “It has to do with the ‘I wasn’t wrong’ thing, yes?”

He shot her a sly, rather smug, look. “That worked, did it?”

She nodded impatiently. “What did you mean?”

He sat still for a moment, then caught her eyes. “How would you describe this place? Fairy tale? Too good to be true?”

She looked around at the idyllic surroundings, the immaculate lawn and the spring flowers wafting in the early morning breeze, and nodded again. A shrewd look in his eyes, he rested his chin on folded up hands. “It is that way because I _made_ it that way. Let me think of a way to describe it in 21st Century language...” His eyes narrowed. “Essentially it’s a centuries-long carefully controlled exercise in image management.”

“A what now?”

He grinned at her, leaning forward into her personal space - the table was quite small, and she had a feeling it was so on purpose. “As I said, it’s all real, but the whole... _aura_ is carefully tailored. What’s a good example? Oh yes - tell people that you’ve spent a long time in Tibet, and they will presume you’re a spiritual sort of person. I’ve never claimed to be spiritual - because quite frankly that would be preposterous - but I still have that reputation, and it does wonders for my influence! If you can control the initial input, moulding the result is easy.”

She nodded slowly, beginning to see the possibilities. “Like... two movie stars being snapped by the paparazzi, and suddenly everyone thinks they’re a couple.”

He laughed. “Exactly! And the best thing? It works in reverse too. Someone sceptical trying to ‘find the truth’ will discover mostly hear-say and rumours and dismiss the whole thing without realising the kernel of truth hidden at the center. It’s simple when you know how.”

“That’s very clever,” she said slowly, turning it over in her head, wondering if there was any way she could use this in the way all the new Slayers saw her. He grinned. “It is, isn’t it? A perfectly perfect little slice of fairy tale made real.”

But then she again remembered what he’d said, and frowned. “But why? You said it was a holiday...”

“That is the best description, yes.”

“So... you have a different life somewhere else?”

He nodded slowly. “Yup. Mr double-life, that’s me.” He stopped for a moment, eyes darkening. “Triple, actually.”

“So...” she looked at him expectantly, and his eyebrows rose in almost comical fashion.

“Oh I’m not telling you about my other identities! To be honest, I’ve never actually told _anyone_ that I have a different life - although some guessed, I’m sure - so you’re a huge exception already.”

She watched him incredulously, as he leaned back in his chair, smiling.

“So... that’s it? That’s all I’m getting?”

“That’s it. First of all, my other life is all very secret, and second...” he hesitated momentarily, “I come here to get away from it. I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t exist. Trust me, you don’t want to know. Also, it’s dangerous - even for you.”

There was no laughter in his eyes anymore and she tilted her head. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

“No. I...” the smile and the charm suddenly reappeared with a vengeance, “I thought that maybe you’d like to join me in my little fairy tale? See I could be Prince Charming, you could be Princess Buffy, and we could pretend that every story has a happily ever after, that the good guys never do terrible things and the bad guys are never cute, that people never die or leave us behind, that we never have make to impossible choices...”

She suddenly swallowed, but didn’t look away. Somehow - and the serendipity of the situation was almost impossible - this man understood her; her life, her pain, her fears. It was far, far different from anything she’d ever experienced, and not at all what she’d expected from this unlikeliest of corners. 

He chuckled a little, adding, “Of course, since this is a 21st Century fairy tale, the prince and princess both have busy lives and careers. But I figure we could have a lot of fun together nonetheless. What do you say?”

And there was that twinkle in his eyes again. She knew that if she didn’t get out instantly she’d probably be unable to deny him anything... and really, was there any reason at all for getting out?

But before she could reply, her phone began ringing.

It turned out to be Dawn, wondering just how long it could take to stop one measly little sacrifice, and being rather grumpy because Sundays were sister-bonding days, but if Buffy had somewhere else she’d rather be, then _fine_, it wasn’t like Dawn had cancelled a really hot date for Buffy’s sake or anything! 

Buffy looked apologetically at The Immortal when she’d hung up. 

“I’m gonna have to run...”

He held up his hands, an easy smile on his lips. “No worries. But if you’re up for some fun just call - anytime. My schedule is... flexible. As am I.”

He winked, and she couldn’t help but smile back. 

It wasn’t a date. It was - it was more like having that (male) gay best friend she’d been imagining. Except he wasn’t gay...

“I’ll call. As soon as I know when I have some time. Tomorrow night might be free...”

She got up, holding out her hand and he took it - grinning widely. 

“Trust me. We’ll be _spectacular_!”

And she didn’t doubt him at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first date.

_Angel: What the hell could Buffy see in him?_  
_Demon Butler: Perhaps she likes the cut of his trousers._  
[...]  
_You must be so lonely. Your girlfriend has become lovers with The Immortal. How unfortunate for you. And how fortunate for her._

**Sunday 4th of April (lunchtime)**

Arms. He had very good arms. Actually the whole chest area was really quite above par. Although there _was_ the fact that he used guns, but she was quite willing to overlook that... 

Buffy had spent most of a week trying _not_ to think about how hot The Immortal was, so finally indulging was a relief. Actually thinking about _any_ man was a nice break.

Slowly emerging from her contemplations she realised that Dawn had been talking and was probably expecting a reply of some sort. Quickly she nodded and said "Of course!" as naturally as she could, before shoving some more salad into her mouth. Lunch. That's what was happening. With the food and the talking to her sister and such.

Dawn grinned widely. "Ha! You just said that it was fine for me to go on a date with Marco."

Buffy frowned. "What? No - I... _no_. No no no no no! He's bad news and you shouldn't see him. Oh and by the way if he was the 'hot date' that you cancelled, then it was never a date to begin with. Also his pants are way too tight and... leathery. He could be evil."

Her sister didn't seem impressed with her deductions. "You think he's evil because he wears leather pants?"

"M-hm!" Buffy thought to herself that this was a perfectly logical argument, but Dawn just shook her head. "Dating the Buffy way: Check out the pants!"

"You can tell a lot about a man from his pants," she shot back. _'Like if he wears any underwear'_ she added to herself, but didn't feel like sharing that with Dawn. Sisterly bonding was all well and good, but there were limits.

"So - what do The Immortal's pants say about _him_?" Dawn asked, not letting the subject drop.

Buffy thought for a moment. "That he has a very, very good tailor. Seriously. _All_ men should wear trousers that well cut, even if it’s more difficult to tell the evil from the good that way."

This earned her a smirk from the other side of the table, and Buffy realised that they'd wandered far from the starting point. "But - leather is evil. Also he's going to get you killed with that motorbike of his."

Dawn lifted an eyebrow in that way Buffy dreaded. "Says the most dangerous moped-driver in Rome."

"What? I'm not dangerous. I'm... assertive! Romans are very aggressive - you have to stand up for yourself or they drive all over you."

Dawn shook her head, not at all bothering to hide her smile. "Anyway, you so do not have a leg to stand on, because I can totally tell you're going to see The Immortal, and he is a _lot_ more dangerous than a 20 year old with a Harley."

"I think it's about even," Buffy decided after a moment's consideration. "Especially since I know for a fact that The Immortal isn't evil. At least not _evil_ evil."

"Hm," Dawn replied. "Are you going to tell me what happened this morning, or just keep drifting off in daydreams?"

"Daydreams!" Buffy answered chirpily, and Dawn sighed deeply. "When are you seeing him?"

"Tomorrow night I think."

She glanced at her phone and felt a happy glow of anticipation. She was sure it'd be a proper date, in a restaurant and everything - it might not even be interrupted by vampires or ritual sacrifices or gloomy friends! 

Life was good.

**Monday 5th of April**

But - life dating The Immortal could be full of last-minute changes, Buffy soon discovered. Late Monday afternoon he called - very apologetically - and asked if she'd mind changing their plans a little, since he'd been caught up in something that would take a little longer than anticipated. 

He sounded a little... off, and she asked if he was OK.

"I'll be fine," he replied, refusing to explain further, instead suggesting that he could come by to pick her up around 9 o’clock and they could work out what to do then? 

“On the plus side I’m _excellent_ at improvising,” he added, and she could almost hear the grin.

At 9 pm sharp he knocked on the door, his wide smile faltering slightly when Andrew opened it.

"Oh my _god_, it's really you! And you're even more handsome than-" Andrew managed, before Buffy grabbed his arm and shoved him out of the way.

"So sorry. He wouldn't leave, and if I threw him out of the window he'd just sit by the front door and whine like a lost puppy."

Then she realised that The Immortal had apparently been talking literally when he mentioned chocolates and flowers, before failing to stop Dawn from snatching the former.

"_Thank_ you," Buffy said, taking the flowers and sending Dawn her most evil look. The Immortal chuckled. "Hey - I'm supposed to be the perfect date, aren't I?"

He winked conspiratorially, before admiring her very 40s Hollywood starlet dress (which had taken her most of the day to find, in a very intense shopping expedition, but his admiration was totally worth it). 

But then Andrew pushed himself forwards again.

"I'm so sorry, but do you think you could sign my book. I mean, your book. I mean, my copy of your book. I sleep with it."

The Immortal - for the first time Buffy had seen - looked genuinely worried and concerned, and Buffy sighed deeply. "This is Andrew. He's my... he's the local Watcher. Sort of. He used to be an annoying nerd with evil pretensions, now he's a reformed annoying nerd with watcherly pretensions. But he _does_ know a lot about demons, which is why I haven't kicked him back to London. Yet."

Andrew however ignored her completely and, with mute adoration in his eyes, held out the book and a pen.

After a moment The Immortal took both, and - clearly trying to curb a grin - wrote on the front page of the book. He handed it back and then turned to Buffy, holding out his arm. "Shall we?"

Grabbing a coat she grinned back. "I think we shall!"

"Wait - where are you taking her? And when will you be bringing her back? And... what exactly are your intentions?"

Dawn was doing her best mom-impersonation, but The Immortal was utterly unfazed.

"Considering how late it is, I was thinking of taking her out stargazing - which would probably take all night. And as for my intentions... Well, I'm open to suggestions."

Buffy laughed, then suddenly had a thought. "Oh - by the way, if you ever have some spare time, do you think you could check out some guy called Marco? Usually spotted in the vicinity of my sister, or a Harley, and covered in leather. I think he's evil - or possibly gay - and would like to know for sure."

"Sounds like something I'd be very happy to do," The Immortal smirked, and Dawn scowled. 

"You know she's evil, right?" she said, pointing to Buffy, but The Immortal just grinned and wrapped an arm around Buffy's waist.

"Excellent! I like my women evil."

Shooting Andrew a swift look, Buffy couldn't help proving her wickedness by asking: "How do you like your men?"

Following her gaze, The Immortal's smiled deepened.

"Naked," he replied, catching Andrew's eyes and holding them until the other turned a new and very interesting shade of scarlet.

Buffy thought that her sources had only been a little wrong. He wasn’t _perfect_ perfect - just perfect for _her_. 

In the car, she - curious - asked what he'd written in Andrew's book.

The Immortal smirked. "Just a little advice. If he's sleeping _with the book_, he's been reading it wrong. Unless there's a chapter on bibliophilia at the back, which I doubt. Although I've never actually read through the whole thing, so I could be wrong."

Buffy stared. "You've not read your own book?"

He shot her a surprised look. "I know what it says. Why would I read it?"

She blinked, trying to wrap her head around his words. "That's- I'm confused. _You_ are confusing. 'Splainy?"

He chuckled. “Well, I know what it says because it’s about my life philosophy or whatever it’s called these days. And I haven’t read it because I didn’t write it. Which - by the way - is a secret, so don’t go mentioning it, okay?”

“Sure,” she replied, slowly nodding. “So... you hired a ghost writer?”

A sideways smile and a slight shake of the head. “Not exactly... First of all I didn’t hire him, he came to me, and second he was an actual writer ghost.”

And the weirdness just kept coming. “Writer ghost? As in... a ghost that writes?”

“Exactly!” he replied, effortlessly maneuvering the car through the late evening traffic. “A lot of ghost writers are writer ghosts by the way - saves a lot of money etc - but this guy showed up...” he thought for a moment, “oh about twenty years ago? Started following me around, saying that he liked my attitude - he’d been one of those people who did everything he _ought_ to, and nothing he _wanted_ to. You know, the usual story. Anyway, the next time I returned he’d written a whole book about my outlook on life. Which was... flattering.” 

Shooting her a wide grin he almost missed the traffic lights changing to red, and belatedly slammed the brakes on. 

“Damn. Ought to have a siren, or police lights or something... Anyway, he wanted to publish the thing - to ‘spread the message’ - and I figured why not? Decided to use my name on the cover since he’d been dead for over a century and it was all ‘my’ ideas after all. I skimmed the final draft, but could never get all the way through it - as you might have gathered I much prefer practice to theory. But people seem to like it, which is nice, because try as I might, I’ll never actually be able to ‘talk’ to everyone in the world. Which - according to _some_ people - is a good thing.”

He shot her a look so inscrutable that she couldn’t work out if it was a joke or not, but thankfully they then arrived at the house. This time they entered through the back door which led into the kitchen, and it was obvious that here the servants ruled. It was markedly different in style to the rest of the house - despite its size it felt warm and cosy, furniture and appliances well worn and clearly chosen for durability and efficiency rather than style or show-off factor. 

Within moments Francesca appeared, and Buffy began wondering if The Immortal had hired all his staff from central casting - the elderly housekeeper, with her black dress and silvery hair tied up in a bun, looked like she had stepped straight out of a movie or TV drama. As soon as she was told of their plans, she brought out the largest hamper Buffy had ever seen and then began attempting to fit the entire contents of the fridge into it. Apparently 'stargazing' was another word for 'night-time picnic', or rather ‘night-time banquet with ten courses’. 

In between dashing to and fro - blankly refusing any help - Francesca talked at great length about her family, in the process pointing out the obvious artistic talent of her youngest granddaughter, Marina, who had recently turned four and whose pictures adorned the fridge. The Immortal gravely admired the colourful drawings, before trying to steal some olives whilst Francesca’s back was turned. This earned him a severe telling off, although of course he just grinned impishly, not at all apologetic. 

Then - possibly trying to stop the old woman glaring daggers at him - he tilted his head and asked what she thought of Buffy. 

"Ah!” Francesca stopped for whole two seconds and beamed. “_Such_ a lovely girl. You know, she called on the telephone before the party and asked so very politely if she could bring her sister. _'Of course!'_ I say, _'bring whole family!'_ Then she tells me that her sister _is_ her whole family. Is tragic. Tragic!” 

She shook her head, muttering about the unfairness of life and death, before turning to Buffy. “You always welcome here cara mia. In Immortal's house - _everyone_ is family!”

“Absolutely,” The Immortal added. But, despite the smile on his face, his eyes were shielded in a way Buffy couldn't quite work out.

Francesca however didn’t seem to notice as she continued talking to Buffy. “You will be good for him I think. A _good_ girl - or boy - is what he needs, I have said it again and again; but so many times he just goes for the pretty face.” She shook her head in disapproval, and The Immortal chuckled. 

"Francesca has been my self-appointed date-vetter for _years_ now. Ever since I brought that Brazilian guy home - what was his name again?"

"Paolo!" the elderly woman spat, like even saying the name was too good for him. "Vain and wicked he was. Bad - very, very bad!"

"He was a trapeze artist from a circus," The Immortal elaborated, "and _unbelievably_ talented and limber. Also gorgeous. Which of course he knew - practically had a mirror stapled to his hand. I, however, only had the pleasure of looking at him for a very short while - Francesca saw to that."

Intrigued, Buffy asked what had happened.

Another chuckle that brought out the dimples again. "She put itching powder down the back of his shirt - I laughed so hard I almost fell off my chair. Long story short, he got seriously pissed off and walked out, never to return."

Buffy stared at the little old lady in front of her, who was with great care adding the last few items to the hamper, looking the very picture of stately respectability and quiet dignity. Buffy quite simply couldn’t get The Immortal’s words to fit - he might as well have said that she'd attacked him with a chain saw. 

"Itching powder?" she asked, voice laced with incredulity.

Smiling indulgently, The Immortal explained.

"Well she was only seven at the time."

For a moment Buffy could almost _hear_ time whoosh past her as the past flashed in front of her eyes, so vivid that it drowned out the world completely.

_The Mayor, talking about his wife growing old - Angel breaking up with her, calling their relationship a 'freak show' - wanting her to have a normal life - Spike's incredible reluctance to make any kind of move..._

She'd known, she'd understood, and yet... Suddenly she _saw_ \- right in front of her face - what they'd talked about, saw the true tragedy of immortality. 

And all because of an old woman who’d once been a mischievous child, whilst The Immortal had not changed at all... 

No wonder her vampires had been so antisocial, so loath to engage with humans, considering the price for standing out of time. And no wonder The Immortal tried to go for ‘the pretty ones’ - the easy ones - those who wouldn’t break his heart. 

Although she had a feeling he was no better at shielding his heart than she.

***

The car loaded up with the enormo-hamper and a large pile of blankets, they set off. Slowly the noisy, bright town filtered away and the countryside spread out next to them, calm and dark. Driving past farms and vineyards, blurred from speed, Buffy remembered Riley promising to show her the joys of driving; and as The Immortal’s sleek Ferrari effortlessly tore through the night, making her feel rather as if they were flying, she thought that she finally knew what he’d been on about - although she found herself rather amused at who her guide had turned out to be.

Then she noticed that they were slowing down, The Immortal looking as if he was searching for something, and then he turned off down a small unlit side road. A little later the car came to a smooth standstill and The Immortal got out, swiftly running round the car and holding her door open for her. 

Then he unloaded the hamper and the blankets, before vaulting over the fence they were parked next to, asking her if she’d mind passing their things over. 

She looked around, trying to make out anything other than dark trees against a dark, cloudless sky. “Where are we?”

“Orange grove,” he explained, pointing to the trees behind him. “We’re a bit early - the trees won’t flower for around another month, which is a shame. Afraid I can’t control the seasons.”

Slowly she shook her head. “But - is it yours? Or do you know who lives here?”

He shook his head, clearly not bothered. “Looked nice. Hamper?”

“But what if someone comes?”

“We’ll explain that we’re having a picnic.” He looked at her, like this was the most logical thing in the world, and she decided to just go with it. It was nearly midnight after all, and he was very, very pretty. 

Slightly worried, she wondered if his attitude to life was contagious... Not that she was a stranger to trespassing, but usually it was for more urgent and serious reasons. Although knowing her luck there would probably be a vamp nest somewhere nearby.

Still, when they were sitting on the blanket a little later on a small grassy hill, indulging in delicious food and champagne, Buffy had to agree that this was a fantastic idea. Considering how long she’d been dating night-time creatures, she’d never done much night-time picnicking. Although graveyards were not as romantic as orange groves she had to admit - there was no sign of badness here. And there was something wonderfully freeing about sinking into this perfect date - she almost expected there to be swelling background music as he fed her grapes and gateau.

But then, when the vast leftovers had been packed away, he surprised her again by lying back on the blanket, hands behind his head, and looking up at the sky.

“So - what do you know about stars?” he asked, and she realised that he might have actually been literal when he talked about ‘stargazing’.

Which, given his innuendo-laden talk, was just bizarre.

“Um...” she replied, lying down beside him and shooting him a glance, wondering if it was a trick of some sort. But he appeared perfectly genuine, so she looked up at the clear sky and honed in on the one constellation she knew.

“I can find the the Big Dipper.”

“As good a place to start as any,” he said, before moving a little closer, pointing upwards. “If you look at Mizar - that’s the second star from the end of the handle - then if you look _really_ carefully you should be able to make out two stars very close together.”

She squinted up at the sky, and then grinned. “Oh yes. Cool!”

“The second one is called Alcor, and is actually three light years away from Mizar - they just this look close when viewed from Earth. Mizar itself is actually a _triple_ star - or rather, it’s a double star, and it’s companion is also a double star.” He was silent for a few seconds, then slowly continued.

“There might be planets around those stars... imagine what they would be like. Three sunsets, three sunrises every day - but, because the suns are all revolving around each other, the pattern would always be changing.” He chuckled. "Timekeeping would be a real bitch."

Then he abruptly jumped to another section of sky, carefully taking her from star to star, until her head was spinning. Galaxies and black holes and stars dying and being born - it was a bit like walking round the Colosseum with a really good tour guide, one who could make the dusty history live. Except this history was so much... _bigger_. Human history seemed to shrink to insignificance in comparison with the life span of the near-eternal beauty of the heavens above.

As he stopped his lecture to have a sip of wine, she answered the unspoken question in his eyes.

”I - I never actually looked at the stars before. When I’m out late I’m usually too busy killing evil things.” _Or making out with them_, she added to herself. No need to tell him that though. “How... how do you know so much?”

He shrugged. “I’ve always loved the stars - ever since I was little. I’d look up and dream. Of course dreams never turn out the way you expect...” A little sigh escaped him as he stared up at the glittering wonders above them, eyes so distant that she had a feeling she might have to tether him down or he’d fly off. “The stars are still the same though, after all this time. From down here - from down here it’s like they never move or change.”

Buffy nodded, thinking of Francesca. She could certainly understand why he’d want to focus on something as immutable as himself. 

“_Now_ of course,” he continued, “it’s finally possible to actually _see_ them properly thanks to the Hubble Telescope. It has taken some really incredible images - I could find some for you, if you like? It’s... it’s so beautiful out there. Truly amazing - words can’t do it justice at all, trust me. Although the moon is a little on the dull side up close - too many craters.”

She couldn’t help smiling as she studied him - these immortal types were all the same. “Go on - you were part of the moon landing or something. That’d be _so_ typical.”

To her surprise he looked genuinely horrified. “Are you _kidding_? Seriously - did you _see_ Apollo 11? It looked like a Blue Peter project!” 

“A what?”

He chuckled. “Sorry - British TV reference. What I meant is, it looked like it had been made by kids out of cardboard and tinfoil. I may be immortal, but _nothing_ could have got me onto that spacecraft. I still cross my fingers every time I catch a glimpse of it on TV, because I can’t believe it actually made it.”

“Do you do this often?” she asked after a moment. “Stargazing I mean.”

Slowly he shook his head. “No. Looking up inevitably makes me feel...”

His voice trailed off, and she tried to fill in. “Small?”

He shook his head again. 

“...lost.”

There was a pause, then he turned to her, eyes oddly solemn. “You were dead... Did you find out if there’s someone in charge? Is there a God? Do things happen for a reason or is everything just chance?”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t know... I didn’t meet God or anything when I was dead - I just know that I was happy. But that’s all. Although I’ve met a few creatures over the years who claimed to be gods.” She smiled wryly. “They were generally on the un-mighty side by the time I’d finished with them. Maybe there is a real God, or some sort of power... but whoever he, she or it is, they obviously favour the hands-off approach...”

_Except for that one time with the magical Christmas snow_... Although given how much heartache her life had brought her both before and after, she didn’t know what to think about that anymore. Maybe it had been a coincidence or... something. She certainly wasn’t about to bring it up now, since it would involve _far_ too many explanations. Also it didn’t prove anything.

Instead she tilted her head. “What about you? What do you believe?”

He was silent for a while before replying, but there was no mistaking the sudden mischief in his eyes as he spoke.

“I believe, that one day I’m going to find an alien who is going to tell me the answer to life, the universe and everything.”

Her eyes narrowed. His mood swings - or avoidance tactics - were rapid, but she was used to dealing with people like that. 

“It’s 42.”

Grinning delightedly, he studied her. “You’ve read the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy?”

“No. _I_ haven’t!” she answered. “Andrew on the other hand...”

“Ah,” he said, and she nodded glumly. “Apparently they’re going to shoot a movie soon - he kept us updated daily on all the news he could find, until I threatened to turn him into spare body parts for the props department.”

The Immortal laughed, and she was suddenly aware of the fact that during his cosmic lecture had managed to sneak an arm behind her shoulders and that they were now snuggled very closely together between two blankets. 

His face was mere inches away, and there was no doubting the look in his eyes. She surveyed him drolly.

“You know what? I think you’re trying to seduce me, Mr Immortal.”

“Well I was _hoping_ that’d be obvious,” he replied, bold as anything, as his grip tightened almost imperceptibly. 

She’d already made her mind up - probably had ever since the morning in the garden - but didn’t want to let him get away with it so easily.

“And what would you do if I declined?”

His smile deepened as he looked her straight in the eyes. “I’d ask again tomorrow. Not that there is anything wrong with platonic friendship, but if you’d read my book you’d have seen that I think that if there is genuine mutual attraction it should definitely be pursued. Especially when I’m one of the interested parties - I wouldn’t want anyone to miss out.”

He was unbelievable! Oh she’d show him that when it came to bedroom antics she could more than hold her own. Although she appreciated his straightforwardness deeply - despite his mysterious image and his bizarre personality he was... easy. 

Cooly she answered. “So, you are just like every other man then - only after one thing!”

His eyes widened in mock-horror. “_One_ thing? Oh there is a whole _list_, my dear Miss Summers! With an index and footnotes and everything. And given that we’re on a schedule here, I’m worrying that we won’t even _begin_ to make a dent in it.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she could feel her breath hitch at the lust in his eyes. He was outlined against the darkness in black and silver, his blue eyes glinting back at her like the stars in the dark sky above them, and his mouth curved into the tiniest triumphant smile as he gently lifted her face, his hand warm against her cool cheek. 

“So may I?” he asked, leaning into her - lips no more than a hairsbreadth away. 

She had only known him for a matter of days - and yet... if her life had taught her anything, it was not to hesitate, not to waste time when something good came her way. Mistakes she could live with. But regrets...

So she smiled back, ready to seize and enjoy every moment she was given.

“You may.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before. Including an unexpected conversation.

_Xander: Yeah, relationship debris is kind of piling up on the Buffy highway._  
~  
Buffy: I just... target the impossible ones... with deadly accuracy.  
Holden: You think you do that on purpose? Maybe you're trying to protect yourself?  
Buffy: Protecting myself? From heartbreak, misery, sexual violence, and possible death? Not so much.

**Tuesday morning, 6th of April, predawn.**

Captain Jack Harkness wasn’t a religious man - and yet, as he watched the sleeping woman in his bed, he had a sudden urge to offer his gratitude to someone. He guessed he could thank serendipity, but talking to a concept was a little too far, even for him.

He’d have to settle for spoiling Buffy in every way he knew... treat her like a princess, just like he’d promised. A somewhat wicked princess though, not a vapid Disney one. His body was still tingling from energy spent, from just trying to _keep up_ \- he felt as exhausted as after a long night of weevil catching.

Logically it had made sense to let her take charge, since he had figured that she was probably a natural leader in bed as well as outside of it - and also he wanted to see what her tastes were. So he had told her to set the pace; and then... 

Reaching out he stroked her cheek, still somewhat overawed and shaken. Who _had_ her previous lover(s) been? It had not taken him long to dismiss his list as wholly inadequate, as she had shown him that she knew _exactly_ what she wanted from him - she was clearly not just trained for combat, but also for the rather different skills needed in the bedroom... 

Being able to jump straight to improvisation - _advanced_ improvisation even - was such a gift that he could barely begin to grasp it. Tantalising prospects were dancing at the back of his mind, delightful and somewhat distracting. Not that he minded those with only the most basic knowledge - he always relished the opportunity to widen their horizons, and enjoyed the surprises that inevitably met him as they found their own style - but in the circumstances Buffy’s proficiency was so lucky as to defy belief. 

Getting to know her was like... like exploring the TARDIS for the first time, a new surprise around every corner. He smiled as he remembered that just when he’d thought that _surely_ there couldn’t be more, he had stumbled across the Olympic sized swimming pool... 

Of course then Rose had appeared a while later - only to disappear almost immediately, spluttering. This odd behaviour had been explained once he’d finished his swim, when the Doctor had sat him down for A Talk, the main gist of which being that Jack was not allowed to be naked _anywhere_ onboard, except his own room - _not even when swimming._

The irony of having had to live through more than a century of this attitude was not lost on him.

With a sigh he let the reminiscing go, and briefly wondered what Buffy’s attitude to nudity was. He had a suspicion that it fell very much in line with current views - which was good, actually, because it stopped her from being completely perfect, perfection being something he was rather wary of. And Buffy came dangerously close...

There were plenty of people that he’d wished he could have shown the wonders of the universe. But Buffy _was_ one of the wonders herself. His very private wonder. 

And not because she was funny and smart and beautiful and heroic and all the rest, although that added to it. But because he’d come back to life and seen in her eyes the one thing he never thought possible: _recognition_. He’d never imagined - never dared hope - that he’d ever meet someone who understood what it felt like to be forcibly dragged back into life. The pain, the confusion, the anger - it was not something it was possible to explain, and yet this woman - warrior woman, he corrected himself - knew what it was like. 

The fact that she also shared his need to escape, to play pretend, and then revealed herself to be as versatile in the bedroom as a Swiss Army knife was just the icing on the proverbial cake. 

_Surely_ he could manage to stretch this job a bit longer than a month? 

Sadly this thought reminded him that he needed to actually do some work... UNIT were getting impatient, demanding a ‘progress report’ - by which they clearly meant ‘how much useful stuff can you salvage?’ 

With a final soft kiss on his Slayer’s cheek, Jack got out of bed - wanting to curse the stupid spaceship, and yet knowing that without it, he would never have met Buffy. After pulling on a silk dressing gown he retrieved his Torchwood case from the office, and then sat himself down in a room adjacent to the bedroom - the door slightly ajar in case Buffy woke up. Although there were still quite a few hours until dawn, and he figured she was used to sleeping in after late nights.

Switching on the laptop he slowly began writing, now and again checking the notes he’d been jotting down. The ship was basic, but still had plenty of items that UNIT would be thrilled by - most of all the navigation system, whose star map had escaped unscathed. 

The engines of course were a write-off, although he was rather worried by the fact that they’d blown up _again_. He’d have to have a good look at them later, to make sure they were definitely completely out of action before getting rid of them... 

He also needed to call Torchwood - not that Suzie wasn’t scrupulous about her daily reports, but he needed to talk to Tosh. He had - with a rather monumental feeling of ‘why-on-_earth_-didn’t-I-think-of-that-before?’ - realised that all the equipment from the ship would be too radioactive for UNIT to study, except under the most carefully controlled circumstances. Which made the whole point of the exercise rather superfluous. Being short on resources (and time, to be honest), what he needed was some method or other of accelerating the gamma ray decay rate. He had a few ideas, and knew that if he only pointed Tosh in the right direction she’d work something out. 

And UNIT would have just let that brain go to waste... his clever, bright, wonderful Tosh. He really ought to think about bringing presents back - they’d certainly deserve them.

For a moment he missed his Hub intensely. ‘His Hub’, he realised, _his_. It had always just been ‘the’ Hub, but there was a sense of ownership to it now. The darkness, the hum of technology all around, the ever-present threat of danger - it all felt much more ‘home’ than the beauty of the house he was currently in... as did the worry that made him read Suzie’s reports very carefully indeed, even if he tried his best to tell himself that Torchwood had always got along fine whether he was there or not. Although being the one in charge changed that, didn’t it? If something happened that he could have stopped... 

No, he couldn’t think like that or he’d go crazy, he knew that. With a few keystrokes he brought up a satellite image of Cardiff, the town glowing in the predawn darkness. Slowly he zoomed out - further, further, further - until it was less than a spec on the globe. For a long while he watched it, wondering how such a tiny place on such a small planet could have crept into him to such an extent.

Finally he tore himself away, instead looking through to the bedroom, taking in the blonde hair spread across the pillows on his bed.

Yet another wonderful thing about Buffy - she wasn’t his responsibility.

***

**Later the same morning.**

Sunshine being the default weather was something Jack never got tired of. When talking to Tosh she’d complained about the rain ruining a new pair of boots, and he’d done his very best not to be smug - although he had a feeling he’d not quite succeeded. But then Rome didn’t just have sunshine, it also had a gorgeous blonde in a huge four-poster bed, finally stirring after having slept for almost 6 hours...

She sat up, clutching the sheet and looking a little disconcerted, and Jack swiftly locked down his work, before pushing open the door and leaning against the frame. He looked good in doorways, he knew.

“Good morning. Looks like you slept well...”

“Um, yes...” She blushed a little, in the most adorable way imaginable, and he wondered if she knew just how much her slight unease - and her attempt at covering it up - told him. Last night’s boldness had mostly vanished, and he was struck again by how very young she was, despite everything. Past lover(s) had been skillful, but few - and he loved that nervousness, that tentative grasping for how things were now; how to face things with so many things laid bare. Some people, he knew, were all about the chase. But whilst he enjoyed the chase very much indeed, for him the point lay in the capture - in the _having_ and the knowing. He was a craftsman - an artist even - and took great pride in his abilities. With every conquest it took time to fine-tune and hone those skills, to adjust and discover and explore, and he relished every step of the way - not least the beginning... 

If he could, he would have frozen this moment of sweet unsureness - as fleeting and transient as the awkwardness of a first kiss.

“Would you like some breakfast?” he asked instead, knowing that he was the one who had to put her at ease, and that there was nothing better for that purpose than food. “I’ll have to make it myself since I told the servants not to come in until after lunch, but I figure I can probably manage to scrape something together.”

“Sounds great!” she answered, looking relieved. He turned, then paused and looked over his shoulder. “The wardrobe is through there - feel free to have a look round if you want a dressing gown or something similar. Afraid I didn’t think that far last night.”

He grinned and left her to it - in his experience no woman could resist a wardrobe, and his was pretty well stocked for any and every eventuality.

When he returned ten minutes later she was back in the bed, wearing a very fetching pale blue kimono that for just a second made his breath hitch. But the girl he’d bought it for was so many years dead that he only faltered for a moment, his smile back in place before she turned to look at him.

“And here you go My Lady - as full a continental breakfast as I could find. Although the coffee is only instant. I think the coffee maker is bewitched.” 

He put the tray down and sidled in alongside her. “Although if it is _actually_ bewitched, someone is going to get a spanking!” He thought for a moment as he handed her a cup. “Unless they’re into that. In which case they won’t.”

She chuckled before taking a sip of her coffee, and then tucked into the pastries. He liked the fact that she didn’t seem worried about what she ate - too many women (and men) these days were forever counting calories. Although he probably would be too if he was stuck with a metabolism like theirs... Why people were so against genetic manipulation he couldn’t understand. Sure it was a bit experimental at this point in time, but look where they ended up!

Still, better not to get lost in thought. It was time to enjoy some pillow chat - so, swallowing the last of his chocolate croissant, he caught Buffy’s eyes and smiled self-assuredly.

“I think my prediction the other day was ‘spectacular’ - would you agree that that was correct?”

It was a rhetorical question, really, since he knew exactly how much she’d enjoyed herself, but he still watched her expectantly where she was sitting, apparently turning the question over in her mind. But instead of concurring, she shrugged her slim shoulders almost imperceptibly, as a look he didn’t trust one little bit stole into her eyes.

“I’ve had better.”

He stared open-mouthed for one of the longest seconds he’d ever had. Then his brain caught up and, as he located the source of the quote, he burst out laughing. 

Seeing the relief on her face just made him laugh more. What a girl! 

Oh she was _on_ \- he hadn’t had a challenge like this since... forever. He decided that his mission for the next month was to keep that exact look of mischievousness on her face as much as possible. And best of all - she’d given him the opening he’d wanted.

When he could breathe again, he asked, as calmly as he could: “Who was he?”

The mirth vanished in an instant, her eyes shutting down with an alarming finality. Watching her, Jack felt like banging his head against the wall for jumping in with such clumsiness. There had been a bad ending of some sort, and now she was upset - which was the opposite effect of what he wanted.

But just as he was about to apologise and tell her to forget it, she seemed to make her mind up, taking a steadying breath and meeting his eyes squarely.

“His name was Spike.”

For a second time she left him speechless, although this time it was through pure disbelief, and it took him a few moments to find his voice so he could articulate his astonishment.

“You are _kidding_! Spike? As in _the_ Spike? _Spike_ Spike?”

It would certainly explain a lot, but a Slayer and a vampire? Especially _that_ vampire...

She studied him, unsure. “What do you mean ‘_Spike_ Spike’?”

He threw his hands in the air - there really weren’t a lot of Spike’s to choose from...

“As in _Spike_ \- William the Bloody Spike, Slayer of Slayers Spike - Dru’s lover, Angelus’ protégé, second worst vampire on record - annoying, argumentative, impulsive, smart, impossibly charming, and - lest we forget - the owner of _the_ most incredible cheekbones in the known galaxies!”

As soon as the last words escaped him he cursed inwardly, because it was a slip - a small slip, but a slip nonetheless. However she didn’t seem to have noticed at all, staring at him wide-eyed.

“You knew him?”

He opened his mouth, then hesitated - reminding himself to tread carefully and also a little thrown by the past tense. So he leaned back against the headboard, letting the words flow slowly and leisurely, as if there was only one man he was remembering.

“Not sure I could claim to _know_ him... Let’s see - our paths first crossed back in eighteen... ninety-four it was, when he and Angelus decided that they didn’t like me, and wanted to play at being my archnemeses. Seen them on and off since then - mostly him and Dru though.” He frowned. “Did I hear something about Angelus getting a soul?”

She nodded, clearly trying her best to be composed and not giving much away. “He was cursed by gypsies.”

Jack shrugged. “Can’t say he didn’t deserve it - if I’d known I’d have sent them a gift basket. Anyway, I’ve not actually seen Spike for - wow, must be around 50 years. Time really does fly. I had him thrown in prison for tax evasion last time we crossed paths... Good times.”

He chuckled at the memory, and then realised that Buffy was staring at him, utterly stunned again.

“You - you had _Spike_ imprisoned for tax evasion?”

“Well, I was just going to throw an angry mob at him as usual, but then I happened to actually spy him and Dru... and, um, realised that he’d completely changed his look.” He grinned. “You’ve seen him in a suit?”

She still looked like he’d sprouted weird things out of his head, but she slowly shook her head, before suddenly stopping. “Wait... just the once. A tweed suit - he was hiding from a loan shark.”

Jack waved away the implied similarities. “Oh no - this was a real Italian designer job, and he’d actually got himself a decent haircut too... I swear, I got _this_ close to kidnapping him and doing unspeakable things to him.” He sighed. “I hate it when the handsome ones don’t like me. Anyway, I couldn’t let a mob destroy something that gorgeous - and it’d have been a crime to touch the suit - so I had to do something else...” 

He smiled wryly. “It’s a long story, but in the end he wound up in prison. Dru got very cross with me - something about not playing by the rules - and wouldn’t even give me a kiss goodbye.”

There had also been the very uncomfortable moment when she’d seemed to look right through him, before slapping his cheek, angrily. _”Naughty Immortal! It’s not **my** boy you want. Stay away!”_

He looked up to find Buffy studying him, the stunned look having given way to incredulity. “You... and Drusilla... were on _kissing_ terms?”

He smirked. “Oh a lot more than that! I’m sure I mentioned a mind-blowing vampire threesome? That was with her and Darla.”

“You... and Darla... and Dru...” Buffy looked like he had felt a few minutes before. Like there was a need for big, slow words and cardboard cut-outs. He smirked.

“As I said, Spike and Angelus decided they hated me, and I needed to stop them bothering me somehow. The girls were kinda fed up with the alpha strutting too. A-mazing night. Or day rather. There was only the one, sadly. But - you and Spike? Really? I mean - vampire and Slayer, that’s... kinda crazy.”

She did a funny little huff and shook her head. “Tell me about it.”

“Nooo, _you_ tell _me_!” he shot back, tilting his head and studying her, all fuzzy and golden in the hazy light that filtered through the curtains. Like the embodiment of sunshine and heat - stunning, but surely utterly deadly to a night creature.

“Seriously - I mean, if you really don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but two sworn enemies being lovers? I have the shady reputation to pull off something like that, but you... I’d expect him to want to kill you.”

She smiled wryly, a little more relaxed - or maybe just still too thrown to keep up her guard. “He did. And vice versa. There was _a whole lot_ of trying to kill each other - although it was... kinda complicated. Anyway, then he got captured by this secret demon hunting government group called The Initiative who put a chip in his head so he couldn’t hurt people.”

Jack stared. “A xenomorphic behaviour modification chip? Really?” 

He almost added, _‘They tested the early models on vampires? Now **that** explains a lot.’_, but stopped himself just in time. 

“You heard about it?” 

She looked suspicious now, and he tried his best to look innocent. “Cartman got one shoved in his head in the South Park movie. Looked into the science behind it one day when I was bored...”

Sometimes Jack felt like awarding himself special trophies when he did a particularly good job of thinking on his feet. He beamed at Buffy, mentally admiring his very shiny cup.

“But - it really worked?”

She nodded. “For a few years at least - great big headache anytime he tried to attack anyone.”

He slowly exhaled, shaking his head. “He must have hated that so much! Wait - what about Dru?”

“She... she broke up with him beforehand, ‘cause... ‘cause he fell in love with me. Well not love - obsession. Well both... it’s complicated.” She was looking down, running her finger round the edge of the coffee cup, speaking more to herself than him, he guessed. 

Slowly the tale unfolded - mainly Cliffs Notes he could tell - but it was quite an extraordinary story even so. And Spike turning into The Souled Hero Who Died Saving The World was not something he would ever have guessed at, although hearing how things had happened it certainly made sense. And he felt a very definite sense of loss at never being able to meet this new Spike... not least because he wasn’t quite able to picture what he’d be like when good.

Having finished her story Buffy lapsed into silence, and he moved closer, tentatively putting an arm around her shoulders. Sighing she relaxed against him. 

“It’s like a step-by-step manual in ‘How to screw up a relationship that could have been incredible’, huh?”

“Well,” he countered, “it sounds pretty incredible to me! Also, trying to date a vampire would be quite a challenge for _anyone_, and doubly so for a Slayer- I mean, it’s not something I suppose you’d be familiar with...”

He didn’t get any further, as she suddenly did an odd sort of guffaw.

“What?” he asked, and she looked at him with a look that was somewhere between amused and old and weary.

“I dated Angel for... 3 years, on and off. When I was in High School. God, I make it sound like some stupid teen flick, and it wasn’t - it hurt so much that I thought it would kill me. And in the end he- he walked away...”

She let the sentence hang, obviously feeling that she’d done her duty in the telling of vampire-slayer romances already, and Jack tried to wrap his mind around this new revelation. Angelus, but with a soul... probably tortured with guilt and meeting a young, teenaged Buffy - oh he could fill in most of the blanks of _that_ story easily enough.

Clearly she was still upset, and he knew he ought to change the subject, still... Curiosity might have killed the cat, but he _was_ immortal after all. 

“Date any other vampires? Or was it all normal guys from then on?”

She shot him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. “Define normal.”

Laughing, he amended. “OK, date any humans?”

“Yes! Well a few. Although I guess the only proper long-term one was Riley - I thought he was just a TA, but he turned out to be part of The Initiative.”

“Oh,” he replied, smiling deeply. “A soldier boy. Let me guess - tall, strong, very fit, looked great in fatigues, lots of cool gadgets?”

She coloured a little and nodded. 

“Oh very few things beat a man in a uniform!” he said confidently. “Actually I think I might have one of my old ones in the wardrobe - I could even dress up if you like?” He winked, and she couldn’t help but smile, so he felt confident enough to keep on topic. 

“But - that’s it? That’s your list of exes?”

She made a noncommittal noise. “I had this horrible one-night stand when I started college...”

”Did he try to kill you?” Jack cut in, and she shook her head in surprise.

“Then it doesn’t qualify as ‘horrible’, just unfortunate. _Trust_ me! Still...” his eyes narrowed. “Spike, Angel, Undercover Soldier - and of course _me_! That’s...”

He was silent for a moment, turning this astonishing list over in his head, then caught her eyes and spoke with great deliberation. 

“I think you might have _the_ best taste in men that I have _ever_ come across.”

If he’d punched her, or suddenly revealed himself to be the illegitimate love child of Mother Theresa and Gengis Khan, she couldn’t have looked more gobsmacked.

“I _what_?”

“You have an _amazing_ taste in men. By your age...” 

He smirked, throwing his mind back. “Well my list was a lot longer than yours, and had quite a few more species on it, _but_\- I think that in this case quality trumps quantity. 3 living legends and a secret agent... I am in _awe_! And jealous.”

She was staring at him, and he thought that this time he might actually have brought her to tears. Which was bad - of course - except he couldn’t quite work out why she’d be upset at a compliment.

“You don’t... “ she shook her head, busying herself with carefully moving the breakfast things onto the bedside table, obviously trying to get her emotions under control. “Oh god, you have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.” 

For a moment she stared ahead, unseeing, before slowly beginning to talk, her face much too bitter and hurt for someone so young. “Riley, although he _said_ that he loved me, left because he couldn’t cope with my powers and independence - and he was so heartbroken that he was married less than a year later; Spike never believed that I loved him - because I really am the queen of mixed messages and screwing up - and Angel...” she swallowed, the sudden anger in her voice a shock. “Angel is now working for Wolfram & Hart.”

Jack could feel his jaw drop, but this was just impossible. And worrying - really, deeply worrying. He caught her eyes, scrutinising her.

“Why?” 

He knew that the question was too sharp, too demanding - but he could feel alarm bells going off in his head and he needed information, dammit. The two worst things about this alias, fairly easily dealt with separately... but together? Angelus - Angel, whatever, the name was unimportant - with the power of Wolfram & Hart at his fingertips? Not many things unsettled him, but this situation had the potential for blowing up quite spectacularly.

Buffy tilted her head, a perky smile suddenly on her lips.

“You know it was the funniest thing - he wrote me this lovely letter, saying how he was fed up with being a hero, so he decided to retire and Wolfram & Hart had by far the best pension plan. Then he asked me if I’d like to come round for coffee sometime so I could admire his modern sculptures.”

The lady sure knew her sarcasm - Jack was very glad that he would never be her adversary and feel the sting of that tongue in full, so he bent his head in apology.

“Sorry. It just... threw me. Seriously, you have no idea why?”

She shook her head, sighing deeply. “He never explained anything. Some months ago he helped us capture a rogue slayer, and I sent Andrew to deal with it - he’s surprisingly good at that kinda stuff. But - even though apparently Angel’s trying to help people still - I let him know that we didn’t want anything to do with him.”

The unspoken question in her eyes coming through loud and clear: _‘I did the right thing, didn’t I?’_

Nothing he’d say would change her mind one iota, that much was obvious, but he knew how she felt. There were some decisions that were made in a moment, and you never looked back. And then there were some that kept haunting you, even though you _knew_ you’d made the right call, and you wished there was someone to tell you that.

“Only thing you could do, I think. I’m on very friendly terms with Wolfram & Hart myself, but then I can’t afford not to be. But you... no, there’s no middle way. _He_ might be trying to do good, but he’s still on the payroll of some of the worst evil I’ve ever come across.”

He would have to check up on the situation, try to discover what had happened. What could they have offered Angel? What was he trying to do? But now was not the time for wondering. He shifted a little, catching her eyes.

“Well... this turned out rather different than I planned - never meant to end up with this big heart-to-heart. But, I meant what I said. You really do have the most incredible taste in men.”

“Yeah,” she replied, her face a picture of wry resignation. “I target the impossible ones with deadly accuracy.”

“_Exactly_!” he said with great emphasis. “Most people never dare to even _think_ about aiming that high. If you like I could tell you the stories of all of _my_ exes, but we’d still be sitting here tonight and there wouldn’t be anything that you aren’t familiar with anyway: Sometimes I left them, sometimes they left me, sometimes they grew old and died - but mostly they were killed much too young... No happy endings, ever. Love is - love is the most amazing thing in the world. And also the thing that _always_ fucks me up.”

He sighed deeply, before lifting his hand and cupping her face, studying her solemn beauty for a moment before continuing, unable to help the smile that snuck into the corner of his mouth.

“Which is why I much - _much_ \- prefer this.”

He leaned into her, waiting just a second before letting their lips meet, relishing the anticipation - the way her breath caught, how her body tensed under his hands, her pupils dilating just the tiniest fraction... 

Then he was kissing her, and whether they were trying to forget heaven or hell or just the pain of love didn’t matter at all. 

Feeling her lips part he deepened the kiss, her passion waking as his hands stole under the kimono, trailing along her side and round her back. She was so tiny, so deceptively fragile - all softness and slender curves - and yet he knew that she could easily kick him through the wall. It was quite ridiculous how much that turned him on, especially considering the fact that he really _didn’t_ want to be kicked anywhere.

Groaning he pulled her closer, parting her legs with a knee as he deftly pulled the flimsy fabric off her shoulders, and she briefly let go of his mouth. 

“You are insatiable!” she said, eyes dancing, and he laughed, too delighted to even begin to argue. This game, ancient and yet forever new, never stopped amazing him - he could feel his whole body begin to hum in expectation and knew that she felt the same. They were hardwired for pleasure after all, the need written into their DNA. Why fight it? 

“You going to tell me that there’s _anything_ in the world better than this?” he asked, and after a few seconds, in which his hands were not idle at all, she smiled back. “Fair point,” she agreed, kissing him anew, and in that moment he couldn’t have cared less if the world itself had decided to end.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating Buffy is easy. But taking on her extended world is more complex.

_Andrew: The Immortal's cool and all, but he ain't all that. He's got his flaws._

**Tuesday 6th April, midday.**

The Disney-like feel of the garden was even more pronounced than Buffy had previously thought. As she explored, she kept expecting to come across small, fluffy, talking animals amongst the manicured hedges and immaculate lawns.

Instead she happened upon a fountain with a very beautiful, and very naked, bronze Adonis - slick and oddly lifelike from the water washing over him - and she couldn’t help smiling. 

Her fairy tale was most certainly X-rated... 

She was aching in places she’d forgotten that she _could_ ache, and she still felt like she was walking on air. Why had she wasted almost a whole week before sleeping with The Immortal? 

Which was a hopelessly shallow thought, but it couldn’t be helped. And focussing on the shallow stuff stopped her from thinking about the talk they’d had earlier, which made her head feel like it was in freefall.

He’d not only _met_ Spike and Angel, he was _jealous_ of her...

No, she still couldn’t actually absorb it. Her friends had learned to accept her ‘peculiar’ relationships, but this - this was just incredible. And somewhat freaky. It wasn’t until she’d been in the bath (gold taps! Or at least what looked like gold taps!) that it had struck her that between them they’d slept with the whole of the Scourge of Europe, and there were probably no other two people in _the world_ who could make that claim. At least no one still alive.

Once again the fact had been cemented that her life was never going to be anything resembling normal - and, for the first time in a long while, she felt that maybe that was a good thing.

Then her phone rang, shaking her out of her thoughts. Guiltily thinking it was probably Dawn, she replied immediately, and heard Willow’s chirpy voice.

“Buffy! So, how are things?”

“Willow! Things are...” she looked around at the idyll surrounding her on all sides and almost laughed. “Things are great. But isn’t it awfully early for you?”

“Nah. OK, totally, but I had to get up at the crack of dawn to do a spell, so I thought - hey I’ll call Buffy and ask about her hot date! See how sneakily I added that?”

This time she actually laughed. “Very sneaky. And what do you want to know?”

“Well... Dawn was all coy and hint-y and wouldn’t say anything except that he was taking you out ‘stargazing’.”

Buffy smirked. “Well that was true. We _did_ go out stargazing. Only it also included a night time picnic with amazing food. But we looked at the stars too - he’s like a walking, talking starry encyclopaedia, and he’s promised that he’ll take me to an observatory so I can see the stars properly.” She stopped briefly, then decided to clarify. “When I say encyclopaedia, I mean a really, really hot, charming, tall, drop-dead gorgeous, blue-eyed encyclopaedia, with, like, _tons_ of personality. Actually he has so much personality that I’m sure there are thousands of personality-deprived people out there, because he got so much more than his share.”

“Wow. Well he certainly sounds like a fabulous guy to investigate.”

For a few moments Buffy felt utterly thrown, until she remembered her initial date with Robin... and the next second she realised that this was all Dawn’s doing, because of that thing with Marco. She was _so_ going to pay for this... after she’d explained things to Willow. 

Oh great.

“Willow... I’m not investigating. I’m _dating_. I mean, I did investigate, and he’s not evil. Really, he isn’t!”

“Well that’s... good. So, um... how long have you known him?”

“A week? A... uh... very intense week.” 

Oh god, she could just imagine how this was coming across. But there was nothing to do now but get through it. She was stupidly grateful that Willow was half a world away.

“Must have been a lot of investigating.” And Willow was still queen of the simple, and yet incredibly loaded, statement. But she continued too quickly for Buffy to call her on it. “So, go on - tell me everything! I tried to look him up, but there’s nothing concrete about his background at all - it’s like he just appeared from nowhere. Andrew said that he sent an e-mail with all the info he’d dug up, but I never got it.”

Buffy made a dismissive sound. “_Andrew_ is hopeless - I think _I_ did more research than he did. Although there isn’t a lot in the books as you said.”

“So I guess you’ve got the inside scoop, huh?” The curiosity in Willow’s voice was palpable. “Who is he?”

“He...” Thinking back over the things he’d told her, Buffy realised that she could not pinpoint a single tangible fact. He’d been a soldier, but not said when or where. Nor mentioned how old he was. Or where he was from. Or what exactly he was, because he wasn’t exactly ‘ordinary’ - for a start no man she’d ever met _smelled_ that good... 

Focus Buffy, _focus_!

“He’s just The Immortal,” she ended up saying, somewhat lamely, because there really was nothing else to say. The things she _did_ know, she couldn’t tell.

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and she could just picture Willow’s face. She braced herself for what might come.

“O...kay.” Another pause. “Buffy... please don’t take this the wrong way, but... are you sure it’s not a love-spell? I’m not saying it is, but...”

Buffy sighed. “He _never_ uses magic. And no, that’s not a clever story he puts out to cover up all the magic that he actually uses, I _did_ think of that. There’s not a trace of magic anywhere. He doesn’t like it - really, _really_ doesn’t like it. Also - “ she smiled a little, “-if it was a love spell, I would be in love, which I’m not.”

“Oh... You... you’re being careful right? I don’t want to sound paranoid but... there are... stories.”

And now she was coming over as an impulsive slut... Head-over-heels-falling-in-love was one thing, but just falling into bed with someone because they were hot was cheap. Of course it wasn’t cheap in The Immortal’s world... to him it was the only logical course of action, but Buffy’s friends didn’t know The Immortal’s world... 

She sighed again. 

“Look, Willow. It’s just... What if you were single and you met the most perfect person in the world and you could date him - or her - with absolutely no strings?”

Praying that Willow would get it, the sudden voice in her other ear almost made her jump.

“Well for a start strings would never hold you. I’m thinking reinforced rope or possibly handcuffs!”

Giving a yelp of surprise she turned sharply and looked straight into The Immortal’s teasing eyes. “You!” she said, and he backed away, chuckling as she glared at him. “Don’t you _dare_.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “Come on - there is _no way_ you’re not into bondage.”

Praying that Willow couldn’t pick up what he was saying she gave him her best evil look. “I am on the phone to my best friend! _You_ will go away and let me talk in private.”

“What’s happening?” Willow asked, and Buffy gritted her teeth. “Just The Immortal being impossible!”

“I thought you said he was perfect?”

“Perfectly annoying at times.” He was still just grinning, so unapologetic that she was very tempted to smack him. Or push him into the fountain. Although she was sure he wouldn’t mind...

“You know, my friend doesn’t think I should trust you,” she said pointedly, and he tilted his head, eyes brimming with mischief.

“Really? Is she threatening to do horrible things to me if I hurt you?”

Buffy shrugged. “Not yet, but she’s getting there. And she really _could_ do horrible things - she’s a very powerful witch.”

“Is she now?” There was amusement in his voice still, but a sharper side shone through. "I don’t trust witches - sorry. Matter of principle.”

Even though she knew that she ought to be on Willow’s side, she couldn’t help but smirk as she repeated his words to her friend.

There was another silence. “I just... I just want you to take care, OK? I mean - no one knows anything about him. There aren’t even any photos.”

“Oh I can fix that!” Buffy said, holding up her shiny new phone with built-in camera, but found The Immortal’s hand closing over the lens a second later.

“No,” he said calmly, but with great finality. “No photos. Invite her round by all means, but no photos.”

“She’s in South America!”

He shrugged. “I’ll pay for the tickets. Is she cute?”

Buffy scowled. “She’s _gay_.”

Another dazzling grin. “That’s just because she’s not met _me_ yet.”

“She has a girlfriend!” This was getting annoying, but clearly he wasn’t in the mood to take a hint.

“Hmmm... open relationship?”

“No!”

There was a pause in which he seemed to weigh up the options. “I’m thinking hidden camera in their room.” 

“OK, that’s it - Go. _Away_.” She pointed towards the house, ignoring the puppy-like look on his face.

“But this is my garden!”

“_Go_!”

He laughed, moved to her side with something approaching vampire speed and planted a kiss on the cheek not taken up with the cell. 

“I’ll be in the library,” he said, winking, and left, Buffy taking a slow breath to calm herself.

“OK, he’s gone,” she said, dropping down on a bench. “Please... don’t worry about it. I know it sounds crazy, but he’s just what I need right now, OK? If you met him, you’d understand.”

But in Willow’s unsure silence she could feel the past climbing up around them, like Sleeping Beauty’s wall of thorns, and was too tired to even begin to explain how this one man had just walked through the whole thing like the fairy tale prince. 

“Oh - sorry Buffy, have to run. Time for my spell. Speak to you later, OK?”

“OK.” Turning off the cell Buffy felt tired and drained and with the distinct impression that her friend hadn’t understood a thing. Obviously if one part of her life decided to work perfectly, the other parts got screwed up.

Slowly she made her way to the library. Seeing her, The Immortal closed a laptop and stood up from the desk where he’d been sitting.

“So, how’d it go?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s just say that my ‘amazing’ taste in men isn’t doing me any favours right now.”

He chuckled and pulled her close. “Guess she’ll have to learn to accept it. Although I guess it’s good that she cares?”

“Yeah... sometimes I wish my friends would care a little less. Or trust me more.”

“As I said... they’re more than welcome to visit. I have plenty of room, and I promise not to have any hidden cameras.” 

The grin on his face was not at all reassuring, and she made a noncommittal noise.

“Anyway, I have to get going...”

He sighed, gently stroking her hair.

"Thought that might be the case. And I’ve got plenty of work to do myself...”

Eyes narrowing, she studied him. “You know, I remember you saying that you came here to get _away_ from work. What’s the deal?”

Laughing he tightened his grip around her waist, forcing her to tilt her head further back to look at him. “Oh that’s the problem with dating smart people - they ask smart questions.” 

“Let me guess - it’s secret and immortal...”

His grin widened even more. “Got it in one. Basically I’m doing some friends a favour, since it would kill anyone else. I’d show you, but... it really _would_ kill you. Permanently.”

“Figures.”

He chuckled. “Sorry. But - whenever you want me, just call. _Any_ time.”

There was something in his voice, his eyes, and the laughter was mostly gone. 

“Any time...” she repeated slowly, and he nodded. 

“I don’t sleep. You want me, I’ll be there. Seems the least I can do.”

Taking in all the things implied in his words, she couldn’t do anything except hold onto him silently, burying her face in his shirt and his wonderful smell. 

He was _perfect_, and right now that was all that mattered.

**Later the same afternoon.**

Jack was sitting in the captain’s chair of the Ettian ship, his feet on the main control panel and a screwdriver in his hand. He ought to be working, but instead he’d switched on the starmap and was trying to lose himself in the sight of endless galaxies spread out before him on the screen. It wasn’t working however - his head was refusing to let go of the myriad of thoughts that were attacking him from every angle.

\- What if there was a major emergency in Cardiff while he was gone? Should he ask UNIT for some extra personnel? (He kept coming back to this one. It’d be painful for Tosh, annoying for Suzie, but he’d rather have them upset than killed.)

\- Was Angel a threat? 

\- Just how much sex could two people have in a month? 

\- How soon could Tosh construct a de-radiation machine? (He had to leave his mobile outside the shield, a situation that was getting increasingly annoying.) 

\- Marco - he had to check out Dawn’s Marco. 

\- Should he invite Buffy’s friends to visit? He didn’t want her to get any more grief, so a visit might be a good idea... 

\- Why wasn’t he listed in the ship’s intergalactic ‘wanted’ list? Sure he wasn’t in that game anymore, but his professional pride was a little hurt. 

\- Maybe he could throw a proper ball for Buffy? He had a feeling she’d enjoy being Cinderella for a night. 

\- _Why_ had Angel decided to work for Wolfram & Hart? 

\- And was there any way of making an Ettian screwdriver more sonic?

The last thought made him smile, before he told himself firmly to just start working. Grateful for small mercies, he appreciated that fact that the ship wasn’t very large, having been built primarily for fast travel and exploration. 

Soon however he was interrupted by a lengthy phone call with Tosh - the first of many as they threw ideas and possibilities back and forth - and then he was subjected to a long and dreary call from a UNIT general who insisted on going over every single point in his report in great detail, as the general tried to determine where the different pieces would be of best use, Jack desperately wishing he could think of an excuse to say goodbye. 

Standing around in the Italian sunshine wasn’t exactly a chore, but the interruptions were frustrating nonetheless. And yet he couldn’t switch the phone off, because he knew that this would mean a sudden crisis in Cardiff...

Much to his chagrin, the one problem his mind wouldn’t leave alone was Angel. He’d much rather dwell on all the delights of Buffy, but his mind continued to jump straight back to the vampire.

Attempting to see him through Buffy’s eyes, Jack had noticed something important. The emotion behind the anger and the unwillingness to speak was an emotion he knew all too well: Betrayal. Whoever Angel had become, in Buffy’s eyes his choice to work for W&H was a betrayal of the man she had known. 

Not that the parallels to his own feelings in connection with the Doctor’s actions went very far - Buffy knew where Angel was, could go and demand her answers any time she wanted. But she hadn’t - it was clear that she was waiting for _him_ to explain himself to _her_... And this spoke of a very interesting dynamic to their relationship, not dissimilar to what he’d gleaned of her time with Spike. Maybe it was something inherent to the nature of Slayer/vampire relations? Or maybe it was just that Buffy was naturally the boss of _any_ relationship?

He was thrown out of his musings when his phone rang _yet again_ and he had to focus on the finer points of radioactive breakdown.

And still, the second Tosh hung up his thoughts leapt straight back to the point they’d been before - _why_ had Angel signed up with Wolfram & Hart? What could they _possibly_ have offered him?

Looking sternly at the panel in front of him, he pushed the Angel problem out of his head and tried to concentrate on the immediate challenges. The vampire would have to wait.

**Late evening.**

The ornate clock on the mantelpiece declared the time to be five minutes to midnight, but - despite being tired out from the day’s work - Jack felt ready to tackle his latest problem.

Making sure all the servants had gone for the night, he sat down on the large leather sofa in the main living room with his laptop and a large mug of hot coffee. Embers glowed in the fireplace, colouring the room, and it was one of those times where he felt keen appreciation of creature comforts.

Out of habit he first checked his e-mail and saw that Tosh had sent yet another update on their newest project, but after skimming it quickly he opened the internet and began the delicate task of hacking into W&H’s network. 

Once in, it didn’t take long to locate a file named ‘Angel’, although it looked suspiciously small. When he clicked on it, however, he realised with sinking heart realised that it wasn’t a file - it was an _archive_!

The list of links appeared endless - the material probably taking up more than an entire server on its own. Which raised another question - why on earth was Angel so important to them?

He sighed deeply, knowing that he had neither the time, nor the interest, to spend a fortnight reading through everything. Surely there was a short version somewhere, some sort of ‘Quick Guide to Angel’? After a little further search he found it, mentally thanking the poor sap who’d had to write it.

Even so the document seemed endless, and he swiftly jumped forward until Buffy’s name caught his eye. Soon he was engrossed in a story far more incredible than he’d dare guess at. He didn’t notice his legs cramping, or his back aching as he followed Angel through his adventures - from Sunnydale and Buffy to LA, the twists and turns spellbinding.

And then, out of the blue, Wolfram & Hart offered him a top job... which he took. 

No explanation; no clue whatsoever to what could possibly have swayed his mind.

Jack frowned and slowly stretched, dimly noticing feeling return to cramped limbs, as he turned the strange situation over in his mind.

The law firm had fought Angel for all that time - the man could be under no illusions as to what they were. It was... it was almost like his own story in reverse...

His first act, as leader of Torchwood Cardiff, had been to sever all links with Torchwood London. He didn’t like them, or their methods, or their aims. Was still pissed off that they continued to blatantly ignore his repeated warnings about spending a minor fortune messing with random holes in the universe... Still, despite their stuck-up attitude, their mission _was_ to help and further mankind. They weren’t _evil_. But Wolfram & Hart were most definitely as bad as it was possible to get. 

It made no sense. Neither did the law firm’s focus on this one vampire.

Searching around in the links archive, he finally unearthed a document detailing a prophecy that made their motives clearer. Although surely Angel would be familiar with it too?

Too tired to begin reading about Angel’s tenure as CEO, he instead decided to look up his team members, wanting to put faces to names.

He found them in a folder that also contained the vampire’s family, and, curious, pressed the link for Spike, wanting to see how The Evil Empire described the vampire who’d won a soul for himself.

The image that greeted him left him slightly slack jawed for a moment - the blond hair and black coat, perfectly offsetting those eyes... by the lost wonder of Arcadia, talk about a man finding a look that worked. How on earth had Buffy stopped herself from jumping him the first time their paths had crossed?

Telling himself to focus, he started reading - and was hit by a far greater shock. 

Spike was _alive_?

Utterly stunned he read every word he could find, emerging much later feeling dizzy and shaky.

Spike was alive. And Spike had stayed in LA instead of going to Buffy... helping Angel, although thankfully not joining up with W&H. But why? Why stay? 

A million new questions were presenting themselves, but whilst he could make guesses - Angel and Spike were family, and, as he knew far too well, an immortal could never offer a mortal a real life - he needed more information. Not just on the Spike side of things, but also when it came to Angel’s operation - he was disinclined to take Wolfram & Hart’s reports at face value.

Then he slowly smiled, as he realised that he knew just who to ask.

**Wednesday 7th April, dawn.**

A persistent knocking on Andrew’s door made him drag himself out of bed, head still asleep. If it was that insane octogenarian from downstairs he’d put a Jedi curse on her or something. How dearly he wished that his Italian was better, and that she wasn’t quite so deaf...

But opening the door his head woke up with a sharp jolt, as his heart suddenly fluttered. On his doorstep stood The Immortal, looking stunningly immaculate and crisp, even at this ungodly hour.

(Of _course_ he was looking immaculate. He was not anything resembling an ordinary person, with ordinary flaws and problems.)

“Can I come in?” he asked, and then proceeded to walk past Andrew without waiting for an answer.

“Of course...” he said, feebly, watching as The Immortal slowly took in his flat, eyes trailing over the posters and various paraphernalia, before he chose the largest armchair to sit in.

“Would... would you like some coffee?” Andrew asked, unsure what to do or say.

“Sounds good,” The Immortal answered, and Andrew rushed into the kitchen, turning on the kettle and getting out the best mugs, hands shaking.

A few minutes later he brought the drinks through, and The Immortal looked up and smiled, before taking a cup from Andrew’s hand and taking a sip.

“Not bad,” he pronounced, and Andrew felt his cheeks burn again. As he carefully lifted his own cup, The Immortal tilted his head, his smile turning into something Andrew couldn’t quite figure out.

“You know, I’ve been wondering - how come you never told Buffy that Spike is alive?”

The cup fell from Andrew’s hands, shattering against the floor and throwing hot brown liquid all over his feet, but he barely registered it.

“Wha... what?”

“You must have met him, when you went over to deal with Dana - she cut off his hands after all.”

“But how... how do you...”

The other man shrugged; a smugly superior look on his face. “I’m The Immortal. I guess you could say it’s my job to know things.”

“Uh... okay...” It was impossible. OK, so not _impossible_, but... 

“So - why did you never tell Buffy?” The Immortal continued, unperturbed. “She is quite clearly still heartbroken, and I can’t imagine that you’re the type to keep lovers from each other.”

“He... he asked me not to tell. Said he’d do it himself, just... he just didn’t know how.”

The Immortal looked thoughtful. “True... it can be a little awkward explaining non-death.”

"Would you... would you mind...” Andrew feebly indicated the broken cup and cooling coffee, and The Immortal shook his head. Cleaning up as quickly as possible, Andrew could feel his heart beating too hard. What did he want?

Settling himself down again, and trying to keep his voice calm, he asked. “Was that all you wanted?”

The Immortal chuckled, still blowing on his coffee. “Not quite. I need you to tell me about Angel - his organisation, his team, his objectives in as much as you know them, and - of course - what Spike is up to. Everything you saw, everything you found out. Feel free to throw in anything you know about Buffy.”

“I... I don’t know if...” The Immortal’s smile was perfectly pleasant, and yet there was a look in the back of his eyes, an edge to his voice, that made Andrew feel distinctly nervous.

“It’ll all be confidential of course,” The Immortal said, and Andrew squirmed.

“I - I shouldn’t... Buffy wouldn’t - I shouldn’t go behind her back...”

The Immortal sighed. “Your loyalty is very... laudable, but asking Buffy herself would upset her. So - I ask you.” Noticing Andrew’s worried expression, he shrugged. “If you’re really that worried about it, I could wipe your memory afterwards?”

Andrew’s eyes widened. It wasn’t so much the idea itself, as the casual way in which it was said... and the implications...

“But... but I thought you never used magic.”

The Immortal threw up his free hand in frustration. “What is _with_ you people? It’s always magic or nothing, which is just such a... _limited_ outlook. Trust me, there are far more reliable and safe ways of manipulating the world.” 

He sat back, his eyes hard and grey blue like sheet steel. “Now, will you please just talk, or do I have to force you? I’m not doing this for fun. Angelus is my old archnemesis - _his_ stupid idea, _not_ mine - and I need to asses the level of threat that he now poses. _You_ are the only one here who’s been to LA and has seen what kinda show he’s running now. So _spill_.”

Andrew was not unused to being threatened, and yet... 

There was barely a hint of anger, and certainly no hate or scorn in The Immortal’s voice - just tiredness and stubbornness; the same determination he saw in the Slayers’ eyes when, after a long night, yet another vampire showed up. There was nothing personal in this, just an unwavering resolve to get what he wanted. And somehow this was scary on a whole new level. He could still remember all the stories he’d read - back before he’d picked up the book and decided that obviously whoever had written the stories about how The Immortal served no master but his own interests, good or bad as the case might be, was a sad, jealous loser. How could he have forgotten that sad, jealous losers often had a point?

But The Immortal set down his empty cup, folded his arms, and kept a calm, steadfast and very unnerving eye on Andrew. 

Despite himself, Andrew started to talk. And really - he wasn’t telling any secrets _as such_, just relating what had happened in LA. As he spoke, he discovered that there was something immensely gratifying about having the man’s undivided attention - a situation he’d never dared to dream of.

Finally however, after what seemed like a mesmerising eternity which included a lot of odd and shrewd follow-up questions, The Immortal got up to leave. 

But instead of heading for the door he turned to Andrew, eyes musing, and brought up his hand cradle Andrew’s neck. 

“You know, you have been _incredibly_ helpful. I think you might deserve a reward.”

Andrew felt like his insides had suddenly turned liquid. The Immortal’s hand was warm and gentle against his skin, and far too intimate - and there was a strange look in his eyes as they travelled over him... Oh god, oh god, he couldn’t breathe, and he’d never been kissed or... anything... and what about Buffy...

But none of the imagined scenarios unfolded. Instead The Immortal tilted his head, then withdrew his hand, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I presume you’re familiar with London?”

Andrew nodded silently, too befuddled to formulate a reply, and the other smiled. “Good. Listen carefully, because you’re going to have to memorise this - no writing things down.” His eyes grew distant for a moment, then he continued. “16th April 2005 - so just over a year from now - South bank of the Thames, across from the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben specifically. Get there fairly early, bring a video camera - or preferably two, just in case, and plenty of spare batteries. Tripods might be good too. Make sure you have an uninterrupted view of Big Ben, film continuously. Got it?”

“Wha... what? Do you... do you know the future?”

There was that odd look again - the one he couldn’t read at all. “I’m The Immortal, I know many things. As I said, it’s my job.”

“But what happens?”

The Immortal chuckled. “Telling you that would spoil the surprise, don’t you think? Now - repeat it all back to me.”

Haltingly he did so, The Immortal making him repeat every detail until he was sure it wouldn’t be forgotten. Then, a calculating look in his eyes, The Immortal bit his lip.

“You know... you can do me a favour at the same time and deliver a message to Buffy once it’s time. See for a little while things will seem very grim - tell her not to worry, not to get involved. There will be people fixing it.”

“You?”

The Immortal shook his head, trying not to smile even though his eyes suddenly looked sad. “Oh no, not me. As a matter of fact I’ll be staying as far away as _possible_.” There was an awkward pause, then he continued. 

“Anyway, I should be going. But - for the record - I was never here, and we never had this conversation, understood?”

“Uh.. yeah. Obviously,” Andrew nodded, but then couldn’t help asking - needing to reassert himself somehow and stop feeling... exploited.

“Do you usually lie to your girlfriends?”

The Immortal raised his eyebrows; looking not surprised, but matter-of-fact.

“I lie to _everyone_,” he replied, a statement Andrew realised might be the closest he’d ever get to knowing the truth of the man. He stood still, mutely watching as his guest made for the door. 

But, as The Immortal’s hand was on the handle, a smile curved the corner of his mouth and he turned his head.

“Oh and Andrew?” The voice was teasing now, almost fond.

“Yes?” he answered, unsure, heart suddenly beating rapidly again.

“Do everyone a favour and get yourself a boyfriend!”

Then, with a wink and a swift grin The Immortal left, the too-charming-to-be-true image burned into Andrew’s mind.

***

Back in the car, Jack turned over the new information in his head. To tell Buffy or not - that was the question. On the one hand she deserved to know, and the look on her face would be _incredible_! But on the other... on the other was Spike’s own decision. And also the fact that Jack only had Buffy to himself for a few short weeks, and he really didn’t want to shorten his time with her in any way.

No, he’d leave the Spike conundrum alone for now. Perhaps the secret could be a parting gift?

As for Angel... well the man was clearly trying to use his new power for good. Maybe he was trying to beat the bad guys at their own game? Or... or the whole thing was a Trojan horse deal. In either case Angel was unlikely to come running to Rome to settle old scores. Jack just had to keep a low profile and make sure the vampire didn’t discover that he was dating Buffy.

Although _surely_ he couldn’t still be as jealously possessive...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days, what you need is to run away and hide in a fairy tale.

_Giles: Well, that doesn't change anything. What I told you is still true. You need to learn—  
Buffy: No, I think you've taught me everything I need to know.  
~  
Buffy: All I want to do is graduate from high school, move to Europe, marry Christian Slater, and die.  
~  
Jack: And we're standing there, fifteen of us, **naked**-  
[...]  
Rose: I don't **believe** you, I don't believe a word you say **ever**, that is so brilliant! _

**Friday 9th of April, morning.**

Dating the Immortal was a bit like living in a parallel universe. ‘Going to the cinema’ in Immortal World didn’t mean _‘Let’s go see a movie’_ but _‘Let’s see how close we can get to having sex in a public place, without undressing or people noticing’_. She couldn’t remember a thing about what had happened on-screen the previous night, but Buffy was sure it couldn’t have been anywhere near as exciting as what had happened in their seats. 

After their cinema stunt he’d come back to her apartment ‘to check that the bed was as sturdy as it looked’ - after all Dawn was staying over at a friend’s for the night, and thus didn’t get in the way of their very inventive test methods... 

He had left at 2 in the morning or thereabouts, after she’d pointed out that she needed sleep and had training scheduled with her slayers the next day. 

So she’d woken up alone, but rested.

She was busy shovelling cereal into her mouth when the phone rang, and swallowed as quickly as possible before replying. Hearing Giles’ familiar voice, she smiled.

“Hey Giles - how are things? Please tell me it’s not another apocalypse!”

“No... it’s... well actually it’s... it’s you I’d like to talk about.”

“Me?”

“I received a call from Willow yesterday evening, a report about the spell she tried, and in the course of the conversation she happened to mention... well...”

Oh she knew that tone. So carefully neutral, so desperate not to say the wrong thing, and yet... 

“Is this about me dating The Immortal?”

She should have known this was coming.

“Um... yes. Whilst I understand that I have no right to interfere with your personal life, I also could not forget our conversation a week ago, regarding the spell that Jonathan once used. Now taking into consideration who you must have been talking about, I was... curious as to... well how you made the decision you have evidently made.”

She took a deep breath, and held it. She could do this, she really could. 

And the way to do it, was to eliminate discussion.

“Look Giles... just leave it. I like him, he likes me, we’re having a... a thing, OK? A good thing. That’s it.”

There was a pause, and with a sinking heart she realised that he wasn’t going to let it go.

“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, Buffy. He counts amongst his friends creatures and... groups that we could not possibly be seen to be approving of, however tacitly. And - although his interaction with the Council has been very brief - his arrogance and contempt for human morals and values is well known. I am very sorry to say this, but I am asking you to consider very carefully your position-”

“No!” she cut in, something snapping inside that she hadn’t even been aware of. “No, I won’t _consider_ anything. You have _no idea_ who he is, trust me... He’s the best thing that’s happened to me since- since Sunnydale!” 

She swallowed, fighting against her overwhelming urge to throw the phone out the window and watch it smash against the building opposite. She’d forgotten how angry he could make her.

“Buffy-”

“Actually, you know what? If you don’t like it, then _please_ go ahead and try to have him killed. Because I would _love_ to see you try!”

She slammed the receiver down, desperately fighting against the tears that were blurring her vision and the shaking that was taking hold of her. 

Why her? Why did she always have to defend every action? Why had fate or destiny or the Powers singled her out? Why was she always the one to dance with death - literally or through her lovers? Even Riley had felt it necessary to flirt with it, although at least he hadn’t _actually_ died...

And now there was The Immortal, who spoke as lightly of death as she did, because he understood the darkness... She’d witnessed him die (_stabbed through the heart, just like she had done to-_) But he’d come back to her; no strings, no conditions. Death, that had taken so much from her in so many ways, had no hold over him. 

Maybe, subconsciously, that was the main reason she’d decided to be with him...

The rational thought helped her calm down a little, but she still felt trampled and wrung out - the anger wasn’t gone, and neither was the all too familiar grief that she’d so successfully managed to put aside these past few days. She almost called Dawn to ask her to blow off her classes and come out shopping or something, except... Except Dawn would ask why. _Everyone_ was always so concerned, so careful to ask the right questions and probe her bruised heart. 

But she needed to get away - she didn’t think she’d be able to face the training session with her Slayers, all of them still so young and innocent. 

What could she do? 

Her thoughts drifted back to the The Immortal’s garden. _‘Call anytime’_ he’d said...

Seconds later she was rooting through her purse, finally unearthing the card where he’d written down his cell phone number, and then she was dialling, heart beating.

It took quite a number of rings before he picked up, but then his voice filled her ear, warm and comforting and teasing.

“Buffy! Did you miss me already?”

“Immortal... can we run away together? You and me? Go somewhere no one knows us. Start over - like eloping or something...”

Her voice trailed off, and there was a pause. She was bracing herself, waiting for the inevitable _‘Buffy - what happened?’_ that was sure to follow. She’d been stupid to think he’d be different...

“Well... how far were you thinking of running? I mean - should I bring a passport?”

He sounded calm and serious, and she could feel something unfurl inside. 

“No... no passport. Just... I just need to get away.”

“Hmm, where’s a nice ‘away’? Let’s think... Have you ever been to Napoli? Gorgeous place, and I’ve not been there since forever.”

“Napoli sounds perfect.” It was impossible, but he was saying _all the right things_ \- although of course he _was_ an impossible thing.

“Excellent! Now, who should we be?”

“Who- what?”

“There’s no point in running away if you don’t pretend to be someone else.” He laughed at her confusion. “But if you’ve not thought that far, don’t worry, I’m an _expert_...” There was a momentary pause before he continued. 

“Ooooh, I’ve got it! Go dig out the most expensive looking clothes you own. Think ‘Clueless’ but trashier... and lots of makeup. Basically look like a label addict with no taste. I’ll pick you up in... better say an hour, although it might be less - that _should_ be enough time if you hurry, I think. If you can’t find anything suitable, don’t worry, we’ll just go buy something OK? I’ll tell you the rest when I get there.”

“OK,” she breathed, heart beating wildly and excitement flooding though her. 

Swiftly she called Andrew, informing him that she couldn’t make the training that morning and to relay her apologies to the girls, and then went to ransack her wardrobe. 

Princess Buffy and Prince Charming...

***

**London.**

Giles slowly replaced the receiver, trying his best not to swear out loud. That had gone pretty much as badly as possible - maybe worse. He knew that he was the last person to try to make her examine her relationships, but there was no one else, really, since her friends were all unwilling to confront her. 

It had only been Willow’s slip in the previous night's conversation that had alerted him to the situation (_“At least Buffy is happy, and she says he’s genuine...” “Who? What? Buffy has **a boyfriend**?”_). She claimed that she’d tried her best to ascertain that Buffy knew what she was doing, but had been forced to admit that Buffy had been ‘avoid-y’. 

Giles had then called up Xander, wondering what Buffy had told _him_, and discovered that he, too, had been kept in the dark. After the initial surprise, however, Xander’s reaction had been laconic and deliberately laid-back. _“So the Buffster is dating some immortal guy who may or may not be evil? Giles - speaking from **long** experience - I’m telling you: Don’t get involved!”_

Dawn - his next port of call, since she had to have met the man in question - had of course been defensive in the extreme (and annoyed, because he’d caught her just as she was running out the door for a sleepover), quipping something about The Immortal being _‘disgustingly perfect’_ and _“Why does Buffy always get all the best ones?”_ Upon asking what Andrew thought of the situation (because _surely_ he, as resident Watcher, would have done some research, especially since Buffy had clearly abandoned hers), Dawn had huffed and said that he was probably writing love-poems in Klingon to The Immortal - which had alarmed Giles to such a degree that he’d immediately called the young man.

However, Andrew had - much to his surprise - turned out to be the only semi-rational voice of them all. He had easily expanded on the many virtues of The Immortal, reassuring Giles that he - The Immortal - was most certainly very devoted to Buffy, and that she was as happy and safe as could be. But when Giles had asked if he had seen any foundation for those notorious stories, there had been an odd hesitation.

_“Look - don’t say I said this, I mean, I’m not saying anything, just... I think he could... if, you know, you, like, got on his wrong side or something - not that I have, obviously, because that’s silly, ha ha, but - I think he... he might be dangerous.”_

_“And what led you to that conclusion?”_

_“Nothing! Nothing at all! Just, you know, reading stuff and things. He’s really charming, honestly. And I have to go and we never talked about this, OK? Seriously, promise me that you won’t tell **anyone**.”_

It wasn’t so much the confirmation of the danger (Giles had been quite sure already that the man was dangerous), as the nervousness displayed that made Giles pause. Not that Andrew was the most balanced of people, but after his great success in LA it took a lot to unsettle him - he liked to play the aloof and superior card these days...

Giles had decided to wait until morning before calling Buffy, trying for a tactic of detachment and objectivity, rather than attempting to talk about her feelings - but still she’d shot him down immediately. He would need something a little more solid to back up his concerns - hopefully the books in question had not been destroyed...

Pressing a button for the intercom, he called up his secretary.

“Teresa - do you think you could find me the diaries of Stamford? Early Twenties if memory serves - the years he was stationed in Rome. I am fairly certain they were located in the lower vaults, and should have escaped damage. Thank you.”

He sat back in his chair, pondering. He really ought to have brushed up on the story earlier, but he’d not counted on his call failing quite so spectacularly. 

It was unfortunate, but he needed Buffy to face facts.

***

**Napoli, around 2pm.**

Some days Emilio loathed his job with a passion so sharp it surprised him. 

Working a couple of days a week in a cosy little café was usually pleasant enough, the extra income welcome as a top-up to his simple student life, and he enjoyed meeting and interacting with people from all around the world. 

But some days... 

He had noticed the couple as they sat down and immediately marked them out as rich Americans. For a start they had the telltale wholesome look going - perfect hair, shiny white teeth and clothes that made him wince. Coupled, he soon realised, with that aggravating American sense of entitlement.

From a clothing perspective he wasn’t quite sure which was worse - the woman’s designer outfit, which was so clearly a case of money triumphing over (non-existent) taste, or the man’s jovial ‘Average Joe’ jeans, shirt and boots combo. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to shop. 

The male half of the couple, all folksy friendliness of course, immediately introduced himself as _"Christian Slater, of Slater and Sanderson Steel, Texas - I’m sure you’ve heard of us?"_, to which Emilio could only smile stiffly. The young woman turned out to be Mr Slater’s new wife - a blonde, giggly, cheerleader-type thing, who had shoved her wedding ring under Emilio’s nose at the first opportunity, forcing him to attempt to say something nice about what was probably the most hideous thing he’d seen in his entire life - a pink diamond of ridiculous size and cut, so vulgar and tacky he felt it was almost his duty to give them the name of a good jeweller. 

But any goodwill he might have had left soon evaporated, when he with growing horror realised that they were trying to hit on him - _both_ of them. He’d heard of swingers of course, and the whole car keys in the bowl thing, but although he would never describe himself as a prude the idea was pretty revolting and off-putting. 

He made sure to be icily polite and stand-offish for the remainder of their lunch, but, unfortunately, they appeared to take this as a challenge rather than a brush-off. 

To add insult to injury Mr Slater tipped exceedingly generously - accompanied, of course, with more blatant ogling and half-veiled suggestiveness. 

Emilio quickly decided that the best thing to do with the money would be to buy his girlfriend some outrageous underwear - hopefully it’d help him blank out the trauma.

***

“I think he _hated_ us,” Buffy whispered as they finally left the café, cautiously looking over her shoulder and seeing the waiter glaring daggers after them.

The Immortal laughed and wrapped his arm more firmly around her waist. “Oh I should think so. I do obnoxious rather well don’t you think? And your flirting was excellent!”

“But...” she frowned, as a new thought occurred to her. “What if he _had_ liked us...?”

“_Then_ we could have rented a hotel room. Still could, if you like Mrs Slater?”

Through long practice she easily ignored the offer (and who’d have sex when there was shopping to be done?), although the ‘Mrs Slater’ made her smile again. She’d never imagined that her teenage daydream would ever play out like this-

“Ooooh look - sunglasses!” she exclaimed, forgetting her train of thought as a new shop caught her eyes. Dawn was forever stealing her shades these days, so if she could get some and _hide_ them it’d be a great triumph.

Swiftly dumping her accumulated bags on The Immortal she threw herself at the rows of shiny reflections, only wincing a little at the overly made-up face looking back at her from the provided mirror. But Valley Girls didn’t spare the war paint...

Laughing, The Immortal carefully put down their purchases and joined her, studying the sunglasses with an expert eye - he really was the perfect shopping partner, just like the ‘gay friend’ she’d first envisaged. 

Trying on a pair of shades she looked at him, and he tilted his head. “Not bad... perfect for Mrs Slater, but possibly a bit much for Miss Summers - who’re you getting them for?”

“Me,” she smiled back and removed the glasses, studying him as his right hand hovered over the display. 

“Can I ask... I mean, this whole made up story thing... do you do this often?” 

She wasn’t quite sure how to frame the question, but the ease and smoothness with which the lies had blossomed was just a little on the uncomfortable side.

Picking out a pair of glasses The Immortal carefully settled them on his face, before turning to her, shrugging. “Used to be a con man. Lying through my teeth whilst charming the pants off people is pretty much second nature. What do you think?”

He shot himself a look in the mirror, and she faltered. “I... I don’t know...”

Pulling a face he removed the shades. “No, not ideal. A jaw line like mine needs something a bit more defined...” Perusing the selection again he didn’t seem to notice her unease. 

“Have you lied to _me_?” she asked, feeling like she had when they first met - talking with him was like walking on quicksand. 

“Yes,” he promptly answered. She was taken aback at the bluntness - of course he had said right from the start that he was keeping secrets, but there was a difference between not-telling-the-truth and actual lying. 

“How... how much?”

He smiled gently. “Only the bare minimum, trust me.”

“But it’s all for my own good, right?” There might have been a snippy edge to her voice, but she couldn’t help it. 

“No. For mine,” he replied, and then picked out some different glasses with an air of triumph. 

“Now this is more like it!” He swiftly put them on, grinning, and she could only nod and stammer that yes, they suited him. 

A while later they walked on, both of them sporting shiny new shades, but Buffy still felt a little unreal. 

Would he never stop surprising her? How come she trusted him when he - by his own admission - was lying to her? 

But (thankfully) today was not a day for Deep Thoughts. She looked out over the sparkling bay, holding her ‘husband’’s hand, and let him set the pace as he decided where they should go next exploring the town.

Europe was wonderful, being Mrs Christian Slater was wonderful, and most wonderful of all was running away with someone else.

***

**Night.**

She was going to kill him. Definitely.

Just as soon as she wasn’t naked in the ocean in the middle of the night with a police officer shouting at them from the beach... 

Then she looked at The Immortal and realised that he was shaking from suppressed laughter, not the cold of the water.

Kill him _a lot._

***

As usual it was all because of a vampire. She’d spotted it on the way back to the car and set off in pursuit when it did a runner; had eventually ended up on a private beach (where the vamp’s mates were obviously hanging out for the night) and proceeded to do some nifty slaying. The Immortal had sauntered along behind, carrying all the bags she’d dropped, and had then just stood by, apparently not even remotely considering giving her a hand. Although he’d been having fun playing ‘the protective male’ all day, in reality really he was about as protective as a can-opener. A very naughty and inappropriate can-opener, who - despite his non-participation - quite clearly got turned on by violence, and, after a rather breathless and body-crushing post-slayage kiss, had decided that skinny dipping was just what the day had lacked so far.

It wasn’t supposed to end up with nudity and police and... oh god, her purse was on the beach, with all her identification inside; and it would be no good saying her name was ‘Mrs Slater’ when her cards said ‘Buffy Summers’ and Giles was going to have _a fit_ \- not even when she’d been sleeping with Spike had she been charged with ‘indecent exposure’ or whatever it was called in Italy.

The Immortal was _so_ going to pay for this!

She glared at him, but he just burst into actual laughter and then kissed her - possibly to shut up the tirade on her lips - before catching her eyes, speaking more or less seriously.

“Buffy - don’t worry. The vampires were your show. This... is mine. Stay here for a minute and let me handle it, OK? Honestly, everything will be fine.”

She didn’t get much of a choice, since the next second he swam for the shore. 

A few moments later she got proof - if such proof were still needed - that he really didn’t have a problem with nudity, as he walked onto the beach with no apparent worry or embarrassment.

The police officer - a woman, of course - wasn’t impressed however, shouting at him in explosive Italian. Buffy didn’t understand the words, but the meaning was clear. The Immortal shrugged and leisurely pulled on his pants, before stepping closer to her, speaking so quietly that Buffy couldn’t catch a single word... But after a moment the police woman got out a cell phone and there was some more intense back-and-forth. 

And then - to Buffy’s immense relief - she left! 

The Immortal watched her go, and then signalled to Buffy to come ashore. She was shaking with cold now, and he gallantly lent her his shirt to use as a towel.

“So... what now?” she asked when dressed again, feeling clammy and sticky all over. Skinny dipping had many unpleasant and unforeseen consequences.

“What now what?” he countered, and she waved a hand in the direction the officer had left. “What happens? Did we get let off with a warning or... something...”

He shook his head. “Never happened.”

She blinked, feeling as ditsy and blonde as she’d been pretending to be all day. “What do you mean?”

“As far as the police are concerned, we were never here, and neither were they. Don’t worry - your permanent record is as shiny as it was before. Presuming that it _is_ shiny - I haven’t actually had a look.”

“But how... how did you...”

He shrugged, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Well I can either lie to you, or leave you in the dark - your choice.”

Telling her when he was about to lie was a nice courtesy, she thought, even if wasn’t especially helpful to finding out more. Choosing not to say anything she picked up the bags (pretty things still pretty. That was good.) and they made their way back to the town.

After loading up the trunk with the fruits of their shopping spree, Buffy turned to The Immortal and with a wistful smile pulled the ring off her finger, handing it to him.

“Guess you better have this back, huh?”

He shook his head, hands firmly in his pockets.

“Keep it.”

“But it cost a fortune!”

He hesitated momentarily. “Look... when a man buys a woman a wedding ring he doesn’t like it back - it’s just one of those things, trust me. I know it’s so ugly it shouldn’t exist, but still. Will you keep it? You can always pawn it when I’m gone.”

She nodded assent, and solemnly he picked up her hand and put the ring back on her finger; keeping her hand in his as if to make sure that she wouldn’t change her mind and remove it. 

“Thank you,” he said, a ready smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes, which were focussed on the ring still. Reaching up she cupped his face, forcing him look at her - she was beginning to be able to read him pretty well, and he wore his heart on his sleeve too much for his own good.

“Immortal... were you ever married?”

“Yes,” he whispered, so softly that she could barely make it out, but there was that haunted look in his eyes that she recognised far too well... 

Silently she pulled him down for a kiss, and in the bright passion of his mouth and hands and body she could feel how he wanted to drown in her; forget everything until there was only pleasure left - but he was no Angel, and whatever oblivion he could find in her arms could only ever be temporary. 

But that didn’t make it any less real.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered against his lips, and he nodded.

***

Later, in the cosy cocoon of the car, she half-drowsed as lights flickered past in the darkness, and she felt as if they were flying.

She mentioned this, and he shot her a thoughtful look, the lights from the dashboard gently outlining his handsome face and steady arms. 

“Flying is much better,” he eventually answered. “Would you like to try sometime?”

“Try flying?”

He nodded. “There’s... oh quite a few places within driving distance that I could take you. We could do some cover story about you being my pupil or similar. I’ll work something out.”

She smiled wryly. “So - you know how to fly a plane, on top of everything else?”

The soft chuckle she got in response was comforting in its smugness.

“They have yet to invent something I can’t fly - and it’s highly doubtful that they ever will.”

He did a half shrug, half head-dip, that said _‘I’m awesome and I know it’_ and she shook her head fondly. 

Sleepily she drifted off again, watching the stars and thinking to herself that it was ridiculous for them to be whole other worlds... they looked like nothing more than tiny lights suspended in space; fairy dust scattered over the dark sky. 

Maybe that’s all they were, really... after all, life itself was a fairy tale today.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy has to work out how to deal with Jack... being who he is.

_Jack: You're carving up a sentient creature! And you've got to stop.  
~  
Wesley: It's not Council policy to cure vampires. [...] Not under any circumstances, and yes, I did try to convince them.  
Buffy: Try again.  
Wesley: Buffy, they're very firm. We're talking about laws that have existed longer than civilisation.  
~  
Gwen: He was murdered?  
Toshiko: Yes.  
Gwen: And you covered it up?  
Toshiko: That's my job._

**Monday April 12th.**

The weekend had been taken up with sisterly and Slayer-y things - including patrol Sunday night - and Buffy felt resentful at the persistent knocking on her door at early-o’clock on Monday morning. Dragging herself out of bed she opened the door, only to find some sort of time warp vision outside. 

On closer inspection the vision turned out to be The Immortal, looking as though he’d stepped right out of a history book in an old-fashioned pilot’s uniform - dark blue pants, big leather jacket with fur lining and a flying cap perched on top of his head.

“Wow!” was all she could manage, and he laughed, delighted.

“And a good morning to you too, ma’am. Sorry about the short notice, but would you care to join me for a little spin in the fabulous flying machine I have managed to borrow?”

She blinked, dimly recalling him mentioning something about taking her out flying. “Uh - yeah, sure. Just... need some clothes and... um, breakfast...”

“By all means,” he replied, stepping through the door and simultaneously pulling her close. “You want some help undressing?”

After giving in to a swift kiss, she stepped away smartly. “Maybe later? I mean, you seem to be in a hurry.”

Letting his eyes linger, he smiled and removed the cap. “Not _that_ much of a hurry...”

They were interrupted by Dawn, glaring at them with ill concealed disgust. “Oh my God. Seriously - you have a _mansion_ to... _frolic_ in! Is it so much to ask that you keep your hands off her here?”

So she got dressed rather quickly after all.

***

Buffy wasn’t quite sure what she’d imagined - maybe some kind of private Learjet belonging to one of his equally loaded friends (did he have rich friends that weren’t demons? And did demons have planes?) - but as a dull, grey military base came into view she discarded that train of thought.

Although, in hindsight, the Jeep had been a dead giveaway. 

They drove up to the entrance checkpoint and The Immortal smiled at the surly guard, flashed some sort of identification in his face, and they were waved through. She couldn’t help following the documents with her eyes as he shoved them back in his shirt pocket, and he shot her a shrewd glance. 

“If you like you can have a look. But be warned - they’re fake.”

Rolling her eyes she declined - she really ought to have known that it wouldn’t be that easy to find out who he was. His name ought to be Mr Enigma or something.

Following the road until they reached a parking lot, The Immortal deftly parked the car, before getting out and holding Buffy’s door for her. As she stepped out she looked up and saw a stunningly handsome young soldier swiftly walking towards them. He was dressed in fatigues, with a very fetching red cap on his head, and Buffy thought to herself that she’d forgotten just how appealing the whole military look could be. 

Turning to The Immortal she realised that some invisible switch had clearly been flipped.

“Hel-_lo_,” he said, holding out his hand and smiling widely, and the soldier faltered a little. 

“Captain Jenkins?” he asked, and The Immortal nodded happily, shaking the cautiously proffered hand and holding it for far too long. “The very same. And who might you be, Lieutenant?”

“Mancini. Ermanno Mancini.”

“Well it’s very nice to meet you Ermanno - can I call you that?”

The soldier nodded, tentatively smiling back, and The Immortal happily continued, his focus fixed on the soldier with such intensity that Buffy felt like asking the poor guy if he wanted to borrow some sunglasses.

“This is Miss Summers,” The Immortal made a superficial gesture in her direction, but continued before Ermanno could shake her hand, “-am I correct in thinking that you’ll be showing us the ropes? Please, lead the way.”

There followed an intense instruction session, with entirely too much focus on things that could go wrong, and what buttons to press in which scenario and how to strap into a horrible harness and how an ejector seat worked, The Immortal of course deciding that he needed everything demonstrating in as hands-on a way as possible, since he was ‘a little rusty’.

There was also a lot of male - verging on _geeky_ \- bonding going on, as the two of them discussed ridiculously complicated technical things to do with flying, the terminology so full of numbers and shortenings that it sounded like another language.

Despite parts of her certainly experiencing twinges of jealousy, she nonetheless felt a certain fascination observing The Immortal ‘in full flirt’. It was a little like being an anthropologist or something - her lessons on human behaviour with Professor Walsh slowly coming back to her. She’d been too dazzled at their own first meeting to actually notice how he’d done the dazzling, but watching him now she could recognise certain similarities - voice, looks, gestures; that pure, undiluted _interest_ that made you feel like the most special person in the world. Also she could see how his flirting with the various waiters they’d met was different - not much more than a reflex, with none of this intense focus.

But Ermanno clearly warranted special attention from The Immortal’s point of view (he’d mentioned liking men in uniform, she really shouldn’t have been surprised), so she bit her tongue and tried her best to pretend that she was happy being third wheel. Especially since Ermanno was quite obviously not immune to ‘Captain Jenkin’s’ charms, considering the careful encouragement he was returning.

However she couldn’t help feel a little sorry for the young man, since she was reasonably sure that The Immortal wouldn’t actually cheat right in front of her, so - despite everything - he didn’t actually stand a chance... Hopefully he wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Finally, after Buffy had done her best not to die of boredom, Ermanno seemed satisfied that they were ready to go, and The Immortal beckoned Buffy forwards to a fast and dangerous looking plane.

“Did I ever tell you that you are the _perfect_ girlfriend?” he asked as he helped her in, voice not far above a murmur, and she shook her head. “Don’t think so. But you could certainly make a habit of it if you like.”

He chuckled. “Well you are! Most people in this day and age are so damn... _possessive_, which is very tiring. Flirting never hurt anyone...” He pulled a face, checking her harness. “Well I say that, had a hell of a time during the world wars when sodomy was still illegal.”

“You fought in the world wars?” she asked, and he shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Where d’you think I got the outfit? As I said, used to be a soldier, and figured that when there was a good cause to fight for, my presence might be helpful given my... talents.”

Before she could ask further question he continued, clearly not wishing to dwell on the subject. 

“Anyway, thanks to your kind non-intervention I didn’t just get to know the very gorgeous Lieutenant Mancini, I also got us the best plane on the whole base. Win-win all around! You comfortable?”

She nodded, and he grinned. “Great!”

Slipping into his own seat with an ease that eloquently belied his claims of ‘rustiness’, he started flicking switches and pressing buttons, before saying “Houston - do you copy?” into his communication thing and causing her to giggle in a very un-Slayer-like fashion.

Then, in what seemed to be no time at all to her suddenly nervous mind, they were actually ready for takeoff, and she had to do her best to tell herself that she’d been through apocalypses and this couldn’t possibly be more scary. Especially since her boyfriend appeared to use it as an excuse to show off.

And all of a sudden they were in the air... actually _flying_ in a tiny little vessel; far, far different from the enormous monster that had brought her across from America.

But looking out, she understood what he had meant - driving was nothing like it.

It was as if all the problems that followed her around had been left behind on the ground... All the never-ending concerns she could trace back to that first fateful day when three Potentials had walked through her front door, invading her life as if it was their right. They didn’t need physical protection anymore, but trying to provide remote guidance to so many was draining in a way she’d not foreseen.

Yet, up here the world seemed smaller, more manageable. She could get lost in the extraordinary view, and her devoted pilot easily followed her every suggestion; diving down to study rivers and fields and then swooping back up to the clouds, leaving the earth far, far below.

It was incredible and breathtaking, and it made her feel... free.

***

_For the duration of the flight Jack happily listened to the exclamations emanating from the other seat - but most of all he listened to the silences; the awestruck quiet at the beauty and wonder spread out beneath them._

_Even so there was a part of him that was aching at the limited nature of their little adventure. He wished he could show her the stars, the endless worlds out there gleaming with wonder, of which he himself had only seen the merest fraction. This little plane - for all the advances of the last century - felt hopelessly slow and primitive, especially compared to the craft he was dismantling, which could tear up light years like dry grass._

_Still - there was something fitting about showing her some of the marvels of her own planet, given who and what she was. Grant her an opportunity to see it anew, and hopefully help her feel that the sacrifices were all worth it - something he often had trouble remembering himself, being stuck against his will. _

_Watching the patchwork greenness below, he couldn’t help but feeling a familiar stab of pain... Earth was beautiful; Earth was **special** \- but it wasn’t home. _

***

It wasn’t until they were back in the car, heading towards Rome once more, that Buffy tried to formulate her thoughts and impressions. The Immortal listened quietly, then nodded.

“Amazing, I know. It...” he searched for the words, “It gives a wonderful illusion of freedom.”

She frowned. “Illusion?”

“Where is there to go?” 

The look he shot her was strange, coded in a way she couldn’t decipher at all. Pondering possible meanings she guessed he meant that he couldn’t run from himself, except there seemed to be something else to it. But as she was about to ask, he suddenly uttered a loud exclamation and waved towards the glove compartment. 

“I can’t believe I forgot - I got the dibs on Marco. There’s a folder in there with all the relevant information.”

She pulled out a nondescript folder, eyes widening as she flicked through the papers inside. Wage slips, e-mails, bank statements, a couple of speeding fines (ha! She’d _said_ he was a dangerous driver), old school reports - everything she could possibly want. Still...

“How - how did you get all this?”

He shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

She could feel her eyebrows raising themselves at this statement - something she had a feeling he hadn’t meant to say, judging by the sudden guarded look in his eyes, and his swift follow-up ramble.

“He seems a nice kid by the way. Works in his brother’s garage; nice, stable job. Took the car round there Saturday and had it checked up - boy knows his stuff, and his brother said he was sensible enough, despite his posturing. Should be just enough of a bad boy for Dawn to feel that she’s rebelling... do teenagers do that anymore? Or do they all just say ‘whatever’, and ignore people? ‘Fraid that keeping up with youthful trends is something I’m not always on top of. Getting old I suppose.”

“Well... uh... thank you,” she said, a little lamely. What sort of power did he have? And how? Why? Looked at in a sinister light his ability to manipulate the system was deeply worrying - and yet on the other hand he had apparently fought in wars for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. 

He made no _sense_. But then, he didn’t really have to... He was quite simply her very own cross between Prince Charming and a Fairy Godmother.

**Tuesday 13th April.**

Buffy woke to rain beating against her windows, but it made no dent in the happy mood in the flat. Dawn, still thrilled at Buffy’s sudden change of heart re. Marco, even brought her breakfast in bed, which made Buffy think that possibly she should let her little sister have her own way a lot more. 

After showering and dressing, she was ready to greet the day properly. A little part of her, somewhere inside, was still flying - happily floating above all her work and responsibilities. It was like a fairy tale corner, where she kept her Perfect Boyfriend who could make anything better just by waving his magic wand... 

As she contemplated the appropriateness of her analogy, Dawn cheerily handed her the morning’s post, before breezing out the door, humming.

Glancing at the bundle in her hand, Buffy noticed a large envelope with English stamps in amongst the bills, and sighed. Tossing the bills on the kitchen table, she cautiously opened the mysterious envelope - for a few unnerving seconds expecting paparazzi style photos of her watery adventures to spill out, in addition to a letter threatening blackmail... or possibly a stern note from Giles.

It turned out that there _was_ a letter from Giles, along with a plastic folder with papers. With sinking heart she picked up the letter, Giles’s spidery writing as difficult to read as always. She knew that he had mastered the art of e-mailing (as her ever-increasing load of reports from the world of Slaying testified to), so why bother writing?

Only one way to find out... Sitting down at the table she began reading.

_London, Council of Watchers, 12th of April, 2004_

_My dear Buffy_

_First of all I must apologise for my misjudged phone call last Friday. I fear that I upset you, which was far from my intention - I am all too acutely aware of past missteps on my part. However, I feel that I would fail in my duties if I did not point out to you the precariousness of your current situation. Having no right to meddle in your private life, I nevertheless hope that you will read the document I am enclosing, since it is one of the only direct reports of The Immortal’s actions in existence. It consists of extracts from the diaries of a highly regarded Watcher by the name of Stamford who retired to Rome during the Twenties for the sake of studying rare texts at the Vatican. I assure you that you can trust his word most explicitly, and am sure you will understand why your involvement with the person in question is making me uneasy._

_Affectionately yours,  
Rupert Giles_

She stared at the letter for a long moment, then slowly pulled out the sheaves of paper - obviously photocopied from the original - but Stamford had very clear handwriting so reading wouldn’t be a problem. She hesitated momentarily, but curiosity swiftly won out. What could have rattled Giles? What kind of skeletons did The Immortal have in his cupboard? 

_Rome, Sunday 27th of May, the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Twenty Three.  
According to rumours The Immortal has returned to Rome. My sources came to me unbidden to relay this information (disturbing my Sunday reflections), intimating that the demon community is in high spirits. I sincerely hope we shall have no unpleasantness, although as far as I can ascertain the creature is, like most of society these days, only interested in dancing and frivolity. _

_11th of June.  
...and as regards The Immortal, the stories would appear to hold true. He seems to float upon society like a bubble, keeping the most dreadful company and yet somehow managing to be held in high esteem by otherwise level-headed personages. It is probably nothing more than a simple glamour, but people are sadly all too easily swayed by nothing more than a pretty face and a reputation for notoriety._

_15th of June.  
Today has brought good tidings. None other than Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter has arrived in town - to what end is unclear, but I believe that is always the case. After all, a demon hunter as distinguished as he does well not to disclose what quarry he is hunting. I have sent him a dinner invitation, feeling a duty to my fellow countryman, and also I must profess myself curious. I sincerely hope he will honour me with his company._

_19th of June.  
What a truly fascinating evening. I do not believe that Daniel Holtz himself could have told stories of such bravery and audacity. Mr Baxter is however not one to put himself forward as a hero, modestly downplaying his extraordinary adventures. He has the dashing looks and physical prowess of a star of the silver screen, but I found him a thoroughly earnest man, wholeheartedly dedicated to eradicating the forces of darkness all around us, without expecting or wishing for any thanks or adulation. I have heard that he was highly decorated for his efforts during the war, and this I do not doubt. _

_I shall now commit to paper the tales he told me, and I sincerely hope that they will be studied by future generations, since both Watchers and Slayers could benefit greatly from this man’s boldness, fortitude and quiet determination..._

_22nd of June.  
Unsettling news this morning - it would appear that The Immortal has saved the life of Baldassare the Unflinching, head of the Diretto Clan. Any details are hard to come by, unfortunately, but I know that it is rumoured that Baldassare was one of the instigators of the Massacre at Manziana of 1871, which would not be surprising - the clan is notorious for its hatred of humans, existing in uneasy peace with humankind only thanks to Wolfram & Hart. I have repeatedly asked the Council to step in, but so far my efforts have gone unheeded - I fear we need another massacre before anyone takes notice._

_23rd of June.  
More information has emerged. Out of gratitude for the preserving of his life, Baldassare will throw a lavish party in The Immortal’s honour a week tomorrow, and also bequeath to him his youngest and most beautiful daughter, who, so I am told, goes by the name of ‘Venus’. (I must note that I do not see how the words ‘beautiful’ and ‘demon’ are compatible.)_

_2nd of July.  
I do not know how best to chronicle the disturbing events of the past twenty four hours, but I know an attempt must be made. Just as I was about to depart for bed last night, a messenger knocked on the door, relaying a deeply troubling story. Having spent the night attempting to establish the course of events, these are the facts I have been able to verify: _

_During the festivities for The Immortal, Baxter attacked the demon party, killing at least five and injuring many more, including The Immortal’s new consort. The Immortal is furious, and has issued a statement demanding that Baxter apologise and offer contrition - or face the consequences. Baxter’s reply was, of course, a blank refusal. I fear the worst - the Diretto clan are baying for blood and will undoubtedly take revenge on the residents of Rome. All they’ve needed was a provocation and unfortunately Mr Baxter has given it to them. I wish I could say that I am surprised, but having had the privilege of Mr Baxter’s company, I know that he would always strike out with boldness against any foe, rather than wait._

_3rd of July.  
Baxter has disappeared, and that is all I have been able to ascertain. No one knows exactly how or when. But my sources all agree that this is only what is to be expected from crossing The Immortal, and that Baxter brought it on himself - I even heard a story that The Immortal cuckolded Angelus when the vampire declared enmity, but I find it hard to give any credibility to such a tale. However the situation is grim and I am deeply worried at this turn of events; the loss of Baxter would be a grievous blow to the fight against the dark forces in this world._

_6th of July.  
The twists and turns that life throws at us is a never ceasing source of disbelief to me lately. It has now been three days since Baxter’s disappearance, and, having carefully considered what steps to take, I have sadly failed to decide upon the best course of action. And a short while ago another hurdle was thrown in my path. Mrs. Hodkinson came to my study, looking flustered (I would have said blushing if I hadn’t known her to be a most phlegmatic personage) informing me that I had a visitor. Unsettled I hastened to the lobby where I found an immaculately dressed man waiting for me, and never, I am sure, has the description ‘devilishly handsome’ been more accurate. Upon seeing me he extended a hand, smiling._

_“Mr Stamford I presume? I’m The Immortal, as I'm sure you know. Afraid I’ve come to ask a favour, since from what I can gather you’re the local expert on magicks.”_

_I shook his hand as if in a daze, only belatedly realising what I was doing. I fear that I was somewhat perplexed by his American accent - I had presumed that he was of Italian origin, an unfortunate conclusion due to inadequate investigation. As swiftly as possible I disengaged myself, asking with as much calm as I could muster what this favour could be._

_“Well, I’m sure you’re aware of recent... developments, and the fact that my girl - Venus - was injured. I’ve done everything I can medically - and trust me, that’s more than you can imagine - but she’s not getting any better. I’m thinking that maybe this has something to do with it.”_

_He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a dart (of the sort used in crossbows), only this one had been very carefully marked with magickal symbols, easily visible through the remnants of dried blood still adhering to it._

_“I was wondering if maybe you could work out what the problem is, and make some sort of counter curse or whatever. Afraid magick is not my thing.”_

_For a moment I could not believe his arrogance - his sheer audacity in daring to come to my house with a request such as this._

_“I am afraid that it is against Council policy to aid any demonic being,” I answered frostily, trying to restrain myself from bodily ejecting him from the premises. _

_“I thought it might be,” he replied lightly, “but as far as I am aware you are retired, and I’m very good at keeping things quiet. Surely there’s something I could offer you in return? Name it, and you’ll get it.”_

_What sort of fool did he take me for? Yet, I knew immediately what my reply would be._

_“I wish for an assurance of Baxter’s well-being and his immediate return.”_

_The easy smile faded from his face instantly, his eyes and the lines of his face hardening. _

_“Afraid the xenophobic bastard known as Baxter is... how shall I put it? Inconvenienced. Forever.”_

_“Have you no honour?” I gasped, unsettled at such contempt and insolence. “The man of whom you speak is a hero!”_

_“Heroes,” he replied, sneering, “tend to have the decency to apologise - to feel some tiny smidgen of remorse - when they hurt the innocent. Although I don’t suppose my girl counts; after all, not only is she not human, she isn’t even British!” _

_His eyes narrowed, holding nothing but disdain. “You English with your precious Empire... Take my word for it, it’s all downhill from here. And you have so very far to fall...”_

_He turned to leave, but the gall of the man forced me to call after him._

_“I could have you arrested for murder!”_

_Stopping at my words, he doubled back, eyes glinting dangerously._

_“Tell you what - you find Baxter’s body and I’ll walk down to the police station myself!”_

_Then he laughed, as though he had told a good jest, and proceeded to stride out of the door, not looking back._

_I am not sure what to make of him - his self-confidence is clearly not a smoke screen, and I have no doubts that he is capable of murder. But I fear that he is also too clever to leave any evidence. I shall write to the Council asking for assistance in discovering Baxter’s whereabouts - or his body, as I fear the case might be. _

The diary extracts ended there, but Giles had added a note.

_Baxter was never seen or heard of since, nor was his body ever discovered, despite intensive searches of every kind - it would appear that the man quite simply disappeared off the face of the earth. I sincerely hope you can see why this report disturbs me greatly, and not hold it against me that I brought it to your attention._

_Rupert Giles_

Buffy sat for a long while in silence. If Giles had hoped to shock or surprise her, he had failed... The story wasn’t just plausible, she could almost see it play out - remembered clearly that first morning in the warehouse when she’d seen The Immortal coiled up with anger, his finger a whisper away from pulling the trigger and ending the life of a creature who had tried to hurt a girl... The fact that the girl had been human and the criminal a demon had been wholly incidental - species, she knew, would make no difference to his reactions. He seemed to view the world from a very different perspective than anyone else she had ever met. And have a different sort of power... 

She’d known he was dangerous - she wasn’t _stupid_ \- but she’d ignored it, because... well, because he wasn’t evil (quite probably a genuine white hat, from the hints he dropped), and she was used to danger. If she was perfectly honest, it was probably the thrill of that veiled darkness that had pulled her in.

Why did she have such an appalling taste in men?

But in this case the darkness was supposed to stay hidden - not to have a giant flashlight shone at it. Despite her continual attempts at getting him to talk, she was quite happy with him being secretive, because then she could easily project her fairy tale onto him. But fairy tale princes didn’t go around killing people, no matter the circumstances - they only went after wicked witches and dragons.

Tiredly she reached for her phone. Better see him as soon as possible - before making up her mind, she wanted his side of the story. There could be unknown factors... Not that she could see how. 

Why did Giles have to be so pedantic? 

**Evening.**

She pulled up outside the Immortal’s mansion as gracefully as she could - which wasn’t very, unfortunately. She could be graceful when decapitating, but not when driving... Although she told herself that tonight it might be because the roads were still wet. 

After parking and locking the moped, she determinedly walked up to the imposing front door. She could do this - more than anything she had an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. Finding out that her boyfriend had something dark in his past (and/or present) was par for the course, and, despite the disappointment, at least she knew how to deal with this sort of situation. 

Taking a deep breath she pressed the bell.

Her hand was still on the button when the door opened, and the footman smiled widely when he saw her.

“Miss Summers. Welcome. Please - allow me to take your coat.”

She happily allowed herself to be divested of her coat, and was then informed that ‘His Benevolence’ was to be found in the main living room.

Walking through the house she could smell the enticing early signs of dinner and heard someone sing off key somewhere upstairs, before smiling to a girl carrying a pile of towels that reached above her head, and - as always - shook her head at the row of nude sketches prominently displayed in the hallway.

But as she came to the door she had been aiming for, she realised that she might have to fight for her man. He was deep in what looked like a drawn-out argument, and for once he seemed to have met his match. He was sitting in the largest sofa, his chin resting on his hands, and a girl was standing in front of him, the glow from the newly lit fire dancing across her back. She was wearing a shiny pink dress, shiny pink plastic sandals, a sparkly plastic tiara with matching wand, and a pair of wings (slightly askew) on her back. She looked to be around 4, but Buffy could recognise the look of stubborn determination on her face, and wondered what they could be arguing about - and why The Immortal was even bothering. 

She watched them for a moment, leaning against the door frame, being in no hurry to interrupt. She’d not really seen The Immortal interact with children before, but it was clear that he adored them - he had that knack of not talking down, and was obviously negotiating with an equal. Smiling at the situation, she thought to herself that maybe she was insane, coming to quiz him about possible murder... .

After a minute however he appeared to fold, and the girl, head held high, listed off her conditions. He nodded sombrely, and then they were interrupted by a piercing yell from somewhere else in the house.

“Mariiiiiiina!”

Ah, Buffy thought, Francesca’s granddaughter - the artist behind the fridge art.

The girl rolled her eyes, before making for the door, but was called back sharply by The Immortal, who was holding out his hand with an air of expectation.

Pulling a face the girl untangled herself from the wings and handed them over with an evil look, and The Immortal offered a very serious ‘grazie’ in return.

Not even bothering to shoot Buffy a glance the child disappeared, her shoes making a happy clacking sound on the floor as she ran past, and The Immortal looked up, smiling.

“I think I might have bankrupted myself, and possibly sold her soul to Disney... that child drives a hard bargain! But, it was worth it - no more fairies! I know it’s overkill, but quite frankly I don’t care.”

The smile barely hiding clear distaste he tossed the wings into the fire, watching them burn with an intensity that was rather unnerving.

Buffy walked up to him, thrown at this bizarre turn of events.

“You... have a fairy phobia?” she asked carefully, thinking that this might just outdo Anya’s bunny thing.

He shook his head. “Not a phobia. A very rational, fact based and serious _fear_.” As he caught her eyes, she could glimpse an almost invisible shudder.

“Fairies are _real_? And... evil?” she queried - skeptical, but unsettled.

“I don’t know what they are,” he replied earnestly, “but if you ever glimpse one - and it’s never more than a glimpse; something out of the corner of your eye, something you can’t really see - just... just _run_. Buffy - promise me you won’t fight. It’ll be the last thing you ever do, trust me.”

She nodded, and - still looking tense - he turned back to the fire where the metal wires glowed in the heat. She was on the cusp of asking him what had happened, when he turned round and threw himself back into the sofa, beckoning her to sit with him.

“But - you wanted to talk. Ominous words those, coming from a woman.”

She smiled lightly and settled into his embrace, wondering how to broach the subject. And desperately hoping that there was some sort of logical explanation for the whole thing because she didn’t want to stop dating him. Really, _really_ didn’t want to stop.

“Did I mention Giles to you?”

“Briefly, but I think I got the basics. Father-figure-y Head of the Council?”

She nodded, swallowing. “He... he’s not very keen on me dating you, and sent me this diary by an old Watcher called Stamford...”

It took a moment, but then she saw things join up. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him - surprise, worry, regret, guilt, denial... But what she got was a drolly lifted eyebrow and slight annoyance mixed with resignation.

“This is about Baxter, isn’t it?” He smiled wryly. “Eighty years gone, and finally his ghost comes back to haunt me. Typical. Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter, Scourge of the demon world and all-round great hero and protector... Go on, what do you want to know?”

No point in beating around the bush: “Did you kill him?” 

The Immortal’s eyes narrowed, and there was a pregnant pause before he replied.

“Define ‘kill’.”

She didn’t deign the question with an answer, and he sighed. “I didn’t _murder_ him, if that’s what you’re worried about. And I didn’t let any of the Diretto Clan have their merry way with him either, although god knows I was tempted.”

“So... he just went ‘poof’?”

The Immortal grinned. “That’s a good term. I like it. Yes that’s it exactly. He ‘went poof’.”

“This isn’t funny.” She slapped his hand away, as it began to explore, clearly trying to distract her. Well he didn’t know Buffy Summers when she wanted answers. “Was it you?” 

No hesitation this time. “Yes.”

That was something at least. “So... what did you do? If you didn’t kill him...”

He looked as though he was carefully considering his answer, and she wondered if she could trust anything he said.

“Well... if you wanted to be melodramatic I suppose you could say that it was a fate worse than death.”

She _knew_ that he hadn’t meant what the words implied, but still her immediate reaction must have shown on her face, because he took one look at her and burst out laughing - that infectious, no-holds-barred laughter that she adored. She’d never met anyone who laughed so wholeheartedly. 

And it was just _wrong_ \- they were having a serious discussion about serious things and giggling fits most definitely weren’t part of the script. This relationship just _refused_ to behave the way relationships should. 

Her dismay only increased his merriment, and it took a good while before he managed to catch his breath again. 

“Oh Buffy, I _like_ how your mind works! You know, that particular course of action never crossed my mind, even though he was a good looking guy.” He chuckled a little more, wiping his eyes. “I wonder what he’d have said... Given that he already thought that I was nothing but a foul, disgusting pervert. Never understood me at all.”

“But you understood him?” Keep him talking, that was the key - he often got carried away and said more than he meant to.

“He wasn’t exactly hard to figure out. Knew the type inside out - a classic product of his upbringing and culture... the quintessential Englishman I suppose you could say. Honest and polite to a fault of course, but born into the ruling class of an Empire that by then spanned a quarter of the globe. People like that make for dangerous vigilantes - especially when they operate alone and think they can do whatever they want.” 

His eyes narrowed, studying her. “I know I’m stating the obvious, but doing a job like that - operating outside the government and the law - you need other people beside you. Not to mention rules and regulations.”

She blinked, feeling like she’d fallen into a parallel universe. “Rules. And Regulations. Right. Next you’re going to tell me that the best way of battling the forces of darkness is through focus-groups.”

He chuckled, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that was hard to miss. “C’mon, you have untold hordes of super-powered hormone bombs on your hands, don’t tell me you aren’t keeping them on a tight leash!”

His words brought up her perpetual worries - those that she came to him to forget... But that’s what she got for needing answers.

“Guess I just have problems seeing you as the rules-and-regulations type.”

He smirked. “Hey - if there are no rules, you can’t break them!” 

Smirk fading, he continued. “And Baxter made me break my own rule of never getting involved in anything while I’m here... But I couldn’t let it go - and not just for my own sake. The Diretto clan are Wolfram & Hart clients, the whole thing could have imploded in a very nasty way. So... I took care of it.”

“And did what?”

He smiled, and lightly replied. “Like I said - I made him ‘go poof’.”

Oh great, now they were going in circles. She glared at him, _willing_ him to talk. “Listen - I need more.”

He sat up and studied her, before shaking his head; stubbornness and quiet anger in his eyes. “No. He was a dangerous, narrow-minded man who killed anyone who looked different, no matter who they were. I’m not sorry I got rid of him, and I’d do it again. And yes, I have... _issues_, and I might have taken them out on him. I can forgive just about anything except bigotry.”

For a long moment she just looked at him, trying to get her thoughts in order. He cared what she thought - didn’t want her to think him something he wasn’t - and yet he didn’t seek or need her approval. She could take him or leave him, but he wouldn’t bend as much an inch to accommodate her.

And it was maddening. Why wouldn’t he talk? Was it because he knew she’d disapprove, or was it just because he liked keeping secrets? How was she supposed to make an informed choice when he wouldn’t give her the relevant facts? What could he possibly have done? People didn’t just vanish-

“Oh!” She refocussed on him, sharply. “Did you... did you send him to a parallel dimension? Like... like the Land of Trolls or the World without Shrimp?”

Slowly a wide grin spread across his face, and there was pure admiration in his eyes when he spoke. “Oh you are _good_, Miss Summers. Very, _very_ good!”

The compliment filled her with a warm glow - despite all his secrecy he seemed to genuinely appreciate it when she figured things out. Then he smiled wistfully, in the way that always made him look old, even as it softened his features.

“If only things were different...” he continued, quietly and resignedly, before falling silent, gently letting his hands trail through her hair, a strange melancholy longing in his eyes.

“Different how?” she asked, feeling even more off-kilter than usual, their argument momentarily forgotten.

“The things I could do once...” he started, then shook his head; avoiding her gaze. “I lost so much.”

She didn’t have the first clue what he was on about, but before she could ask he took a breath and very obviously pulled away from the subject.

“Listen - if you want to leave just say so, but don’t do it because of Baxter, he’s not worth it. Seriously he’s nothing compared to-” he stopped, smiled tightly. 

“Your ex-Watcher has a point I suppose. Despite saving the world on a far too regular basis, I’m not really in your league, hero-wise... Too many - far, _far_ too many compromises.” 

There was a bitterness in his words that was more affecting than all his previous justifications, but as she opened her mouth to speak - not entirely sure what to say - he swiftly added. “Oh, and I _didn’t_ shove him into a different world by the way, mostly because it’s way too unpredictable - he could have ended up in... uh, the world of the slaughtering rat people, or the home of the universe's most comfortable couch, there’s no way of telling. But it was plan B, so you weren’t far off the mark.” 

For a moment silence fell, and she couldn’t help feeling somewhat of a hypocrite - hadn’t she gone after Faith, intending to kill her? And not just for the cure, but for vengeance... Really, if she was honest, maybe her sharp reaction was due to understanding him _too_ well...

Misunderstanding her silence, The Immortal gently put a finger under her chin, lifting her face.

“I mean it - you owe me nothing. Guess I’m just selfishly hoping that you think I’m too gorgeous to walk out on.”

The moment was broken by a polite knock at the door, a servant announcing that dinner was served.

The Immortal got up and held out his hand, and she hesitated. Looking up at him, letting her mind run through everything that had happened, she kept coming back to the same question.

“Who are you?”

He tilted his head, and for a single second she thought he might actually tell her. Then he smiled. “I’m just a guy.”

“Right,” she replied, wryly, trying her best not to roll her eyes. “_That’s_ what I’ll tell Giles.”

A twinkle appeared in his eyes, and reaching out he grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet.

“Well why don’t you ask your Mr Giles to come visit? He could meet me in person, make up his own mind.” He thought for a moment. “It’ll be May Bank Holiday in a couple of weeks - I’m sure he can get away then. Everyone does.”

“Invite him _here_?” He couldn’t be serious.

“Absolutely. Get your friends to come too, if you like. It could be like a reunion or something. I’d like to meet them, and you can show me off.”

Moments before he’d been saying that he wasn’t good enough for her, and now he acted like he was some sort of trophy boyfriend - clearly his self-confidence never wavered for long. Then he grinned, showing off those fateful dimples, and wrapped an arm around her waist. 

“Go on! What’s the worst that could happen?”


	11. Chapter 11

_Jack: What do you do? Observe and profile the species and then transfer them to long term storage?  
[Alice lifts her gun and shoots the alien]  
Jack (shocked and angry): Why?  
Alice: It was a threat to the Empire.  
~  
Andrew: Most nights they never leave the house, just curl up on the couch and snuggle.  
Angel: There's snuggling?  
Andrew: For starters.  
~  
Spike: How many you got on her?  
Angel: Uh, just the one. But he got spotted. Called me from the hospital after he regained consciousness. _

**Evening, Tuesday 13th April (cont.)**

‘What’s the worst that could happen’ had clearly _not_ been the thing to say, Jack reflected 10 minutes into Buffy’s lecture. Although on the plus-side it had made her forget about Baxter - for the time being at least... And her never-ending stream of cautionary tales was good entertainment to go with the dinner, as always served in the rather medieval dining room with its long table, ornate tapestries and chandeliers.

If he was honest he found her paranoia rather sweet, but he supposed it was only to be expected after 7 years on a hellmouth. As far as he’d been able to understand, her job had - apart from the regular slaying - consisted of foiling creatures hellbent on opening said hellmouth and destroying the world. In such circumstances, where everything hinged on being ahead of the bad guys and stopping them before something happened, her attitude was perfectly reasonable.

But having lived on the rift for so long, he’d unwittingly adopted a different outlook... There was no way of predicting what the rift would spit out - nothing to do except be perpetually prepared for anything. And no matter how much it might, at times, seem as if it was out to get him, he knew that it was nothing more than a tear in reality; no more capable of malice than the fork he held in his hand. 

As the main course was brought through he tried to cut in - to point out that saving the world together could be _fun_ \- but after taking one bite she waved her hand and said, “Oh! And my High School graduation. Did I ever tell you about that?”, so he silently tucked into his dinner, deciding to wait until she ran out of stories... Which might take a while, but at least it gave him plenty of time to contemplate how to deal with the unfortunate problem of Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter.

The whole thing was very frustrating - he wanted Buffy to stay, obviously, but he rather resented the way she had decided that somehow he was accountable to _her_ for something he’d done at around the time of her grandparents’ birth. He’d only known her for a fortnight and their ‘relationship’ would - at the most - last two months, so quite frankly he didn’t feel that she had any claim on his past or future. 

Also, he reflected, this was exactly why Torchwood had an unspoken rule of never prying into employees’ past once hired - raking up what had been inevitably led to badness. Especially in their line of work.

But he forced his thoughts to focus on how to keep her - he didn’t want their time cut short, particularly not for something as stupid as this. Company was easy to find - a certain pilot in a red beret sprang to mind - but Buffy was so much more than that. She didn’t just stop him being alone; she stopped him being _lonely_.

It was a good while before she remembered her initial reason for coming round, and she stopped talking, unsure how to continue. She suddenly - bizarrely - reminded him of Tosh during her first few weeks, so desperately awkward, and he took a deep breath, hoping his newly thought-up strategy would work.

“Look - Buffy. About Baxter... we’ve been doing it all wrong. You keep focussing on the ending, without knowing the beginning.”

She looked confused. “But... I read...”

“You read the diary of a man who was at best peripheral to events, and who was probably grown in a library. Seriously, in the future people like him will be replaced by robots - except the robots will have more of an imagination!”

The words flowed easily, spurred by the memory of a tryst with a particularly forthcoming library-android, and it took him several seconds to realise what he’d said... But even as cold worry shot through him she laughed, and he quirked an eyebrow as if the whole thing had been nothing but a joke.

He had to be more careful - this whole double life was complicated and slipping became increasingly more likely the longer time went on.

“Anyway... the joke is, that really _I_ was the one to kick-start the whole thing. Because I had to play good samaritan. Happened to come across old Baldassare bleeding to death and decided that I could probably make a difference - not that I knew who he was. If I had...” He stopped, twirling his fork absentmindedly.

“Well... I might just have walked past. Oh and that was Baxter’s first assassination attempt by the way, as I discovered later.” He sighed. “If he’d just been more thorough everyone would have been happy.”

He stopped as he saw her frowning. 

“You mean-” she began, stopped, then started again. “I thought the demons were, like, your friends.”

“The Diretto Clan? _Hell_ no. Never had anything to do with them before - nasty bunch, hated humans and responsible for untold massacres down the ages. I’m open-minded, but, as I said, I’m not fond of bigots.”

“But-” she looked confused, “But they threw you a big party and... everything...”

“Well, could hardly say no, could I? And I figured maybe I could help them widen their horizons a little.” He smiled, although really it was more of a grimace. “Of course then Baxter went and trampled all over _that_ idea.”

Sighing, he took a sip of his water. “Can’t argue with his main targets - he’d done his homework and took out the five top clan leaders within seconds. Must have felt like Christmas for a demon hunter to have all his marks gathered in one place. If only he hadn’t hurt Venus..."

He trailed off momentarily, before pulling himself together and doing his best to tell the story as straightforwardly as possible - starting with the bizarre party with its long, dull speeches, oddly beautiful music, and the effort involved in remembering what cutlery to use. Then the way the peace had shattered when an arrow pierced Baldassare’s throat, swiftly followed by other arrows finding their targets - and Jack, shocked, but immediately focussing on the attacker, getting ready to leap after him when an arrow flew past him and Venus cried out...

Leaving him, as so often before, with a bleeding girl in his arms, trying his best to calm the chaos around him.

The demons - torn between going after Baxter and working out who was calling the shots - had been on the brink of descending into a furious mob, and he’d done the only thing he could think of: As publicly as possible had made his vengeance personal. If there was anything these demons understood it was revenge. 

After that, the actual kidnapping of Baxter had been simplicity itself, the problem of course being what to do with him, and what the man in question wanted...

He shook his head.

“Figured he deserved better than to be torn to pieces - what he did was stupid, but also undoubtedly brave. I was quite impressed to be honest, until...” He paused, feeling the familiar grip of anger settle in his voice and features, “-until he told me that shooting Venus hadn’t been an accident. He’d done it on purpose, and was _pissed off_ that he’d not killed her outright. It was at that point that I had to really seriously hold myself back from blowing his brains out there and then. There are some people you _do not hurt_ \- and Venus was one of those.”

The memory of his showdown with Baxter flashed in front of his eyes - Baxter staring him down, coldly superior and disdainful, and himself, holding the gun to the other man’s head, shaking with fury. 

Years - _decades_ \- worth of pent-up frustration brought into singular focus, the bodies of hundreds, maybe thousands, of executed aliens dancing at the back of his mind... Himself included: The memory of staring down Alice’s gun still burned into his mind, her face so calm and impersonal - protecting the Empire from the alien threat.

There had only ever been ‘us’ and ‘them’ - and ‘they’ were, without exception, executed. For no other reason than that they were _not human_, not from Earth, and therefore had no rights... 

But Venus was _not_ alien, she had been born on Earth (as had her ancestors, stretching back to hazy prehistory), had as much of a claim to the planet as any human. And to have her taunted and despised and nearly killed for just _looking different_, went against every fibre of his being.

In that moment he had seen everything Torchwood believed and practised wrapped up in Baxter and his contemptuous, scornful attitude. And to have someone look at him that way - the look that said ‘_You are Other, you do not belong here’_ \- to have someone with a mindset like that _in his house_, in his one refuge on this blasted planet - was a nightmare become reality.

Except... this time _Jack_ was the one in charge, the one calling the shots, the one with the power - and Baxter the one to pay.

He was so lost in the past that he almost missed Buffy’s question, and had to ask her to repeat it.

“I just wondered...” she looked hesitant, “what was she like?”

“Who? Venus? Um...” he thought for a moment, wondering how to sum her up, and, as often before, wishing that he’d been able to pronounce her real name - it had been far more fitting than the tacked-on human name with all its unfortunate connotations. 

“Well beautiful, obviously. Sweet - and I mean the most sweet-natured person I have ever met - and just... delicate. Helpless. I’m guessing this was how they liked their women - deferential and needing protection. Maybe they were trying to make up for something!”

He shot her a significant look, and she couldn’t help smiling. He smiled back, remembering that no matter how different his Slayer might be from his timid little demonette, they clearly shared some tastes:

“That kimono you picked out on our first morning after was hers by the way - her skin was that exact shade of blue.”

He saw the moment the realisation hit - the instant the past became reality for her. All these people living in linear time - the past was so distant to them, rarely understood as nothing more than a different place....

But he pretended that he didn’t notice her reaction and continued.

“Bought it for our big costume party. She decided to dress up as a geisha, and really it was perfect - she was a bit like a porcelain statue herself. The party was a brilliant thing actually, because she happened to meet her future husband there - name of Ambrogio, would you believe it - and for the next few months we had this fantastic Romeo and Juliet thing going on, where we’d smuggle him into the house in disguise so no one would cotton onto what was happening. God they were so cute - he was an Ano-Movic demon, and practically worshipped the ground she walked on, the Diretto clan being as close to royalty as you could get around here back then.”

He stopped at the puzzled look on Buffy’s face.

“What?”

“I thought... I mean, I figured that she - that you... well...” she fidgeted and he shook his head lightly. Once again all the things between the lines had been taken at face value - which had of course been the intention at the time.

“Have you ever been _given_ another person?” he asked, and she clearly didn’t know how to respond. 

“A person who believed it their duty - their single purpose in life - to do, to _be_, anything you wanted, anything at all...” He tried to suppress a shudder. 

“Submission is a fun game, but when its real... it’s... kinda scary.”

Tending Venus after she’d been hurt... Trying to explain that she hadn’t ‘failed’ him because she’d been shot and that he wouldn’t punish her because of it; that, as a matter of fact, he _wanted_ to look after her; that she wasn’t disrespecting him... If her father hadn’t been killed already he’d have been tempted to off him himself for raising a child to have such a warped self-worth. 

Instead he’d taken it all out on Baxter... 

Anyway, what had he been saying?

“Um, also, she was barely more than a child and I’m... not. Can’t tell you how happy I was when she found her Romeo and I could send them off into the sunset.”

There was a pause, broken by the servants removing their plates, and Buffy seemed to turn things over in her mind, not speaking until after the doors were once more closed and they were alone.

But finally she looked up, that same determined look in her eyes as there had been when she first walked through the door.

“And Baxter?”

Burying his head in his hands, Jack momentarily wished himself back in Torchwood - his own little kingdom where no one questioned him and everyone valued their secrets. This... _thing_ that they had wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d thought there’d been some unspoken ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ rule between them, and now she’d gone and trampled all over it. He sighed and looked up, chin resting heavily on his hands.

“Buffy... I can’t do this. The thing with Baxter... I made it personal. And I know that doing that was a mistake, but it was _eighty years ago_ and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“But did you kill him?”

He briefly closed his eyes and manfully resisted the temptation to bang his head against the table. His admiration for Spike and Angel had grown significantly in the space of the last hour - but, if they could deal with her, then so could he. Well he could try at least... he didn’t have an evil alter-ego to blame his sins on, and if she couldn’t accept him for who he was - well that would be it. 

Taking a deep breath he caught her eyes, doing his utmost to keep his emotions under control. 

“Why is this so important to you? I told you was a soldier. Killing people to make the world a safer place was my _job_.”

It still was, he supposed, although he was trying, trying so very hard, to make things better... to save something from all the destruction. Part of him wanted to tell her about Flatholm, about how the wealth around her was being put to good use. Although of course he couldn’t... he dearly hoped that she understood that he didn’t just keep silent about the bad stuff, but the good stuff too.

There was an uncomfortably long pause, wherein she didn’t meet his eyes, and he really couldn’t begin to guess at what was going on in her head. Except that she was attaching entirely too much weight to one stupid incident, and if he didn’t do something he’d lose her.

“As I said, if it’s your friends - or your Giles - that’s the problem, let’s invite them to see for themselves.” A thought struck him.

“Actually - why not start immediately? Vittore!”

The servant appeared on silent feet, and Jack instructed him to fetch all his letter-writing paraphernalia - including his official seal - and he saw Buffy’s eyes take on a slightly panicked look. But Jack knew that there were two ways of dealing with stuffy Englishmen - either be as outrageous as possible, or be so flawlessly proper that they could find no point of attack. Jack had a feeling that proper was the way to go in the case of Mr Giles.

Moments later he was dredging up the excruciatingly polite language that invitations had once been couched in, the ancient ink pen scratching against the thick paper in a most satisfying way. He only faltered momentarily when he needed to work out when May Bank Holiday fell and nearly reached for his wrist strap - as always feeling bereft and naked when realising he wasn’t wearing it.

But before long he could write ‘With Regards, The Immortal’, slip the letter into the envelope and then seal it - the smell of the melting wax making him feel as if the last century hadn’t happened at all.

Once the wax had set he handed over the letter to Vittore, telling him to have it sent off to Mr Rupert Giles, head of the Council of Watchers, as soon as possible.

“So... what now?” Buffy asked, still looking somewhat blindsided, and he shrugged.

“Wait for a reply. Any man that can write may answer a letter.”

At the frown on her face he elaborated. “Shakespeare - Rome and Juliet to be exact. Now, do you want the rest of the invitations to be similarly intimidating, or should I just send out an e-mail?”

“Um... I... I don’t know...”

He walked round the table, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me, the computer is in the library.”

She still looked like she thought he was insane.

“Look - give yourself a little while to think things through. If you want to leave, we can have a fabulous row in front of all your friends, say all sorts of unforgivable things, and you can storm out and never come back. What do you say?”

***

_She looked at him, standing in front of her, as tall and handsome and charming as ever, waiting for her reply, her decision._

_What to do?_

_He’d told her to back off many times before of course - drawing clear lines around what he was and wasn’t willing to share of himself - but she’d never challenged him until tonight._

_And he had responded by giving her a simple choice between accepting his boundaries or leaving. _

_She knew that Giles would see this as clear proof of a dark conscience, but Giles didn’t know The Immortal... _

_The question of course being: Did she?_

***

“I... I don’t know. I...” she hesitated momentarily, studying him with an intensity that almost made his smile falter.

“I think that you’re manipulative and secretive and arrogant and dangerous, and I think you killed Baxter.”

The smile faded from his face. Oh, he really should have known this was what to expect when dating a hero. He sighed, defeated. 

“Fair enough.”

“But...” she paused, then reached up and held her hand to his cheek as she searched his eyes, and his breath suddenly caught. 

“I also think that you’re brave, and unselfish, and generous, and that you try your best to do what’s right. And I _know_ that it doesn’t make any sense...” 

She shook her head, determination in her features. “But a lot of things in my life don’t make sense. So, yes, I’d like my friends to meet you, ‘cause otherwise they’ll never get it.”

***

The rest of the evening was tentative - they walked on eggshells, testing where they were now and backing continually further away from the edge they’d stood on.

Jack didn’t know exactly how she’d made her decision, but he suddenly understood her vampires with frightening clarity. To get that kind of validation and support from someone like her... He’d forgotten what it felt like. It had been so long since he’d travelled with the Doctor.

She left shortly before midnight, and after watching the lights of her moped disappearing down the street Jack slowly closed the door, for a moment letting his head rest against the solid warmth of the old wood - so very different from the metal of Torchwood’s rolldoor...

What would she say if he told her everything? It was so very tempting to confess his sins to her, to seek some sort of absolution... But it wasn’t fair to burden her with his pain, nor to make her a temporary Doctor-substitute...

Torchwood was _his_ \- his inheritance, his problem, his responsibility - and there was no changing that. 

Then, as if on cue, his Torchwood phone rang, shrill and loud in the empty hallway, and he had to focus on the best way of dealing with a Hoix.

**Wednesday 14th of April.**

It only took only a few seconds for Buffy’s door to be opened after Jack knocked, but when he saw who was on the other side he had to suppress a groan. 

“I’m sorry, but do you _live_ here?”

The innocent outburst (really, there had to be limits to the boy’s crush) made Andrew pale and wordlessly open the door further so Jack could walk through.

To be confronted with piles of boxes and a Buffy who looked at him with exasperation in her eyes.

“He- well never mind what he did. But I had to let him crash. _Temporarily._”

Andrew swallowed nervously, opening his mouth and then thankfully seeming to think better of it. 

Jack turned back to Buffy, raising an eyebrow.

“Well _normally_ I’ve no problems with bachelors moving in with my girlfriends - seriously, _great_ potential - but in this case...”

Andrew began turning pink, and Buffy came up to Jack, smiling a little too brightly. “We’re going out tonight, yeah? You had theatre tickets you said.”

He could clearly read the despair in her eyes, the loud, unspoken _’Get me the hell out of here!’_, but turning the situation over in his mind he slowly shook his head. The situation _did_ have potential...

“You know what - screw the play, it’s all in Italian anyway. I was thinking that maybe we could stay in tonight? Watch some TV, get a takeaway - all that normal stuff that couples usually do and that I always miss out on. Try some domesticity for a change.”

He hung up his jacket and then steered her towards the sofa, whispering “Trust me” in her ear, and she - reluctantly - followed his lead. 

It took a while before she began cottoning on, but he was a master of the slow build when he wanted to. 

They had some pizza courtesy of Dawn, and then he helped the young lady in question with her homework before she disappeared out on a date with her boyfriend. (She was bright - very, very bright - and had an extraordinarily wicked sense of humour. He needed to spend a lot more time with her.)

But finally he could concentrate on Buffy and the TV, gently settling her further and further into his embrace, before finally leaning in to kiss her. Closing eyes she complied with alacrity. 

Andrew, already deeply uncomfortable, finally fled to his room, and Jack grinned against Buffy’s lips. 

“Don’t stop”, she muttered, and he kissed her again... If there was a downside to this arrangement, he couldn’t see it.

***

Although it started out as a way of discomfiting Andrew, staying in soon became a pleasant habit - the mundane nature of their evenings (if anything to do with kissing and undressing Buffy could ever be termed ‘mundane’) a welcome antidote to the hectic lives they were both trying to hide from. Jack began wondering why he’d not thought to spend more time in her flat before - it was small and cosy, as far removed from the Hub or the opulence of his mansion as could be.

He felt like shouting ‘Honey I’m home!’ as he walked through the door after a long day of working, and half-expected her to appear in the kitchen doorway wearing a pinny and asking how his day had been.

Not that he would have told her anything beyond ‘busy’ - which would have been a bit of an understatement.

Thursday - the day after Andrew moved in - Tosh’s de-radiation machine arrived and work began to consume Jack’s life in earnest. The machine was clever and brilliant, and for the first day required endless calls with Tosh as he refined and adapted and had fun messing around; and after that his days were filled with sorting and labelling endless pieces of machinery and technology. The nights - after coming home from Buffy’s - he spent writing rudimentary user manuals for the people who would be getting the various equipment - long lists of do’s and don’t’s, and lots of notes on Ettian science and basic space travel... In some ways it felt like being back at school.

Everything was going well... even the rift was quiet, Suzie’s reports so dull that they almost made him fall asleep. 

**Monday 19th of April, Buffy’s flat.**

“Andrew - more coffee!”

And, by the magic of unwelcome house guests, a little later a cup was brought in and carefully placed on one of the cubes that served as coffee tables. 

“Oh, and by the way-” 

Andrew froze and looked up - clever boy that he was, he knew that tone.

“-you might consider trying to find something for cleaning upholstery. Afraid the sofa got a little... _stained_ last night.”

Jack’s smirk left no doubt in Andrew’s mind what Jack meant, and the young man shot him a dirty and rebellious look before vanishing.

Everything considered, Andrew’s stay wasn’t entirely bad, Jack reflected. There was someone to boss around and do all the boring stuff, although he could tell that Andrew was reaching breaking point - he half expected his coffee to be laced with arsenic, or to be delivered via tossing the mug towards his head. 

Which was, all in all, far preferable to having the kid staring at him puppy-like and adoring. Also Buffy was beginning to become rather inured to his outrageous comments and ‘public’ making out, which was an added bonus.

As he took a sip of the coffee (not brilliant, but quite decent for an American and not poisoned as far as he could tell) his phone rang - the Immortal one, not Torchwood. 

Retrieving it from his jacket pocket he glanced at the screen. But the caller id told him nothing, so he flicked the mobile open and said _‘Hello’_ with as much charm as could be crammed into those two syllables. 

Shooting Buffy a wide grin, she didn’t roll her eyes as expected (and what was wrong with being as friendly as possible?) - instead she was staring at him with a decidedly odd look on her face.

Shrugging he concentrated on the phone again. 

For a second there was no sound, then a hesitant voice said, “Is that The Immortal?” and Jack smirked. 

“The one and only! Tell me, how can I be of service Mysterious Stranger?”

“I... My name is Bryant, I’m the P.I. who’s-”

Jack nodded sharply. “Oh yes, I remember you. What’s the problem?”

He’d seen the man hanging around, of course - noticed him skulking in corners or hiding in plain sight wherever they went. A little like a human CCTV camera, although less annoying than Andrew, and pretty harmless. (Still, Jack had made absolutely sure their shadow hadn’t been following them when they went flying.)

“Listen - I need to talk to you. As soon as possible.”

There was a nervousness in the other’s voice that didn’t bode well. Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“O...kay. See you as soon as I’m done here.” 

He put the phone back in his pocket and turned to Buffy, already thinking of ways to explain away the conversation, but she was still staring at him, that same incredulous look on her face.

“You have _‘My Immortal’_ as your ring tone?”

He chuckled, trying his best to appear aloof, and jumped over the sofa before falling back down into it (he was rich and could afford to buy her a new one, if necessary. It was wonderful how many arguments that settled). 

“Well it was either that or _‘I’m Too Sexy’_, but I thought that might be a bit too much...”

She rolled her eyes, and he winked, then asked if she wanted to watch a film.

(The explanation for the ring tone was actually very mundane... Juggling two identities - with attendant phones - it had made sense to choose ring tones that would immediately identify who he had to be when he answered.)

But Buffy ignored his question and studied him, clearly trying to work something out. 

“Actually... was that song written about you?”

He shook his head vehemently. “Not as far as I know. Also I have better things to do with my time than hang out with pop stars and the like, and have _no need_ to have emo singers write songs about me.”

He settled back into the sofa and tried to focus on the TV, needing to get away from the topic. Because whenever he started to think too deeply about the song, it inevitably freaked him out.

He still remembered the first time he’d heard it, just a few months previously. It had been a cold, grey January day, and he and Suzie had been checking out an odd disturbance in north Cardiff. After some asking around, and taking a few readings, they came to the conclusion that it was all probably down to teenage antics, and drove back, annoyed at a wasted morning.

He’d turned on the radio in a futile attempt at stopping Suzie’s grumbling, just in time for a new track to start. Suzie had made a groaning sound and muttered something about whether the world was actually worth saving, given that the next generation was only interested in playing stupid pranks and then listening to emo crap like this and feeling sorry for themselves.

He’d started listening, eyebrow quirked, but as he took in the words he’d felt incredulity take hold. Back in the Hub he’d looked up the lyrics, feeling increasingly spooked - the song was an almost perfect fit for his own conflicted feelings for the Doctor... 

As he for the umpteenth time contemplated the paranoia inducing lyrics (_‘There's just too much that time cannot erase’_ and _‘Now I'm bound by the life you left behind’_ especially apt), he realised that Buffy had gone very still.

“What?”

She shifted. “I know this is a total non sequitur, but... you never told me what happened to Venus. Did you lose touch or...?”

The look on his face obviously told more than he intended, and there was no way to avoid the sudden sympathy in her eyes. 

“No. We didn’t lose touch. She wrote me letters - long, long letters about their children, their home, their friends, her porcelain collection... I tried my best to reply now and again...”

His voice trailed off, wanting to keep the happiness he’d read about vivid in his mind, but Buffy of course pressed on.

“So what happened?”

He held onto her more tightly, tucking her head under his chin to avoid her eyes. 

“The war. They’d settled in Dresden, because it was so pretty, and... she refused to leave.”

Buffy fell silent, but Jack’s thoughts were once more lost to memories. He remembered making increasingly desperate pleas, as months and years ticked by - even resorting to reminding Venus of her childhood stories about how humans were monsters... All to no avail. 

Then the war had descended, dark and bloody and inevitable, destroying so much more than one little family. And now there was nothing left of Venus except his memories, a bundle of letters and the prejudiced ranting of an old Watcher.

Buffy had been wrong that night he thought, as he dropped a kiss on her head - there was no way of jinxing her friends’ visit. She was envisaging countless nightmare scenarios, not knowing that the worst thing of all was _knowing_ the future - and be powerless to stop it.

**Later.**

When Jack emerged from Buffy’s flat, still in contemplative mode, he found the detective was waiting for him, nervousness betraying itself in swift, jittery movements.

Pretending not to notice him - and dearly wishing he could postpone the talk - Jack kept walking down the street, the detective casually catching up with him after a few hundred yards. They walked in silence for a while before Jack spotted a bench down a side street, covered from the streetlights by a large tree, and motioned towards it. The other shifted uncomfortably.

“Can’t we find somewhere less... public? What if someone comes?”

“We’ll do like in the movies and make out.”

Jack grinned, but the other just shot him a look as if he was insane.

“It’ll be fine, c’mon!”

Sitting himself down he waited, and after a moment Bryant followed suit. Jack studied him - mid-thirties he reckoned, with a New York accent, but Mediterranean colouring, and a little on the pudgy side. Jack briefly wondered what his story was.

“Go on, just spit it out - what’s bothering you?”

Bryant looked around, pulled his coat closer, then finally spoke. 

“I found out who I’m working for.” 

There was a pause, Jack waiting silently, then he continued.

“His name is Angel.”

For a moment Jack could only stare, then he leaned back, taking in the implications. 

“Oh.”

Bryant pulled a face that was somewhere between apologetic and dismayed.

“And no offence, but... he’s a lot scarier than you!”

Despite himself, Jack chuckled. “None taken, _trust_ me.”

The detective studied him warily, his eyes shrewd. 

“You know him.”

Jack shrugged. “Suppose you could say that. He’s my self-proclaimed archnemesis - or at least he was, back when he was evil. Although...” he dragged a hand across his face, tired, “Buffy is his ex, and he _is_ the jealous type...”

Bryant looked as if he was going to faint. 

“Oh my god. I... I’m going to be crucified. I don’t know how the _hell_ you define ‘evil’, but after what I read... ”

He let the sentence hang, shaking his head. “And I thought coming here would be a chance to start over...”

Jack barely heard him, lost in thought as he tried to work out what to do now. This was awkward - very awkward - and he didn’t like it. What exactly would Angel do if he found out that he and Buffy were dating? Turning the problem over in his mind, he realised that there was very little Angel _could_ do... except maybe take out his frustration on the detective who’d been keeping him in the dark. 

He refocussed on Bryant, the man still babbling away in fully fledged self pity and despondency. “What am I gonna do? There’s nowhere to run to! I’m a dead man walking!”

Jack sighed - people were always so overawed by Angelus. 

“Calm down, OK? Just... give me tomorrow and I’ll take care of everything, as long as you promise not to talk. I got you into this, I’ll get you out.”

Bryant stared at him, wide eyed and incredulous. “Get me out? How? It’s Wolfram & Hart!”

Smiling brightly, Jack got up. “And I’m The Immortal. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

The man nodded, glum and resigned.

“It’s not like I have a choice, is it?”

Jack patted him on the back reassuringly. “Good man.”

Although, as he walked away Jack couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of guilt at the half-white lie - there were limits to how ‘fine’ the guy would be after meeting Buffy’s fists, but it couldn’t be helped... 

Sure there might be other ways of dealing with the issue, but century-long habits were hard to get rid of, and Jack wasn’t in the mood to think of anything original. This would work, and that’s what mattered.

**Wednesday 21st of April, mid afternoon.**

Richard Bryant, P.I., woke up, and at first all he was able to ascertain was that his head hurt like hell.

Then his other senses slowly made him aware that he wasn’t in his flat. Cracking an eye open he took in the hospital room, the bandages on his body and the large bouquet on the table next to him.

Ignoring the pain in his head he rang for a nurse, wanting an explanation - whenever he tried to think of the evening before all he encountered was fuzziness.

Moments later a middle aged nurse appeared, who - for just a moment - reminded him far too forcefully of his Mama. She gently informed him that a young woman had attacked him the previous night and seemed somewhat taken aback when he just nodded and said he’d been expecting it. He wasn’t overly worried - this could mean a nice chunk of compensation. (Money that his ex-wife couldn’t lay her hands on, he thought with grim satisfaction.)

“So... it’s Tuesday, right? I need-”

The nurse cut in, somewhat overbearing. “No, it’s Wednesday today. 21st of April.”

He stared at her, his throbbing head forgotten as he tried to take on board what she’d said.

“The last thing... the last thing I remember is... Monday the 29th of March.”

Looking very maternal and comforting, the nurse smiled. “Ah. Short term memory loss is not unheard of after getting a bump on the head, please don’t worry.”

Another patient required her attention and she walked off, leaving Bryant to contemplate three lost weeks, idly tracing the mass of flowers next to him with his eyes. Then suddenly he froze, as the mystery of it hit him.

Calling back the nurse, he asked, voice tight, who had brought him the bouquet. He knew well enough that no one was around who would send him flowers - not to mention the fact that no one knew that he was even here.

The nurse hesitated. “I... it wasn’t my shift. I will ask.”

“Do,” he replied grimly, eyeing the bunch with worry.

After a long moment she returned, looking puzzled and uncertain. “We- we have no records of anyone bringing them.”

“And yet they are here.”

She threw her hands up in wordless surrender at the inexplicable, then bent forward to take a closer look at the flowers. “Wait! There is a card here...”

Bryant took it cautiously, half-expecting it to blow up in his hands. He felt as if there ought to be ominous background music playing, although that was due to too much TV watching, he knew that. Real life tended to err on the side of the mundane and dull.

The envelope only bore his name, and inside there was a tasteful cream coloured card. He opened it and read.

_Mr Bryant_

_Sorry about the headache and the memory loss, afraid that couldn’t be helped. Hope your recovery will be swift. _

_And by the way it might interest your employer to know that a man known as ‘The Immortal’ has been seen in the vicinity of Buffy’s flat._

_A friend._

He stared at the message for a long time, then looked back up at the flowers with a sinking feeling. What the hell had happened? There was a part of him who’d been expecting something to go wrong ever since he took the job, but this... 

Studying the card again he thought that he should probably call up his mysterious employer sooner rather than later. The name - or title - made something twinge in his head - something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it made him very uneasy. It all sounded very casual, but somehow he knew that nothing about the situation was casual... His eyes narrowed. He’d bet his life that the innocent-looking information was a code for something else.

Having located his phone he called up the number that had been programmed in ever since he took the job. The phone rang a few times, and then an unmistakably American voice answered.

“Yeah?”

“Um... this is Bryant. The PI on Buffy Summers? Calling from hospital - got spotted last night, only just woke up.”

“What?” 

Well that had gotten him some attention at least.

“Just, um, thought you might want to know that I saw a guy known as The Immortal near her flat...”

“When?”

The voice was urgent now, and Bryant swallowed, thinking fast. 

“A couple of days ago... Took a while to find out who he was, and then she-”

There was a pause, then a soft, “Yeah. I understand. Thanks.”

And his mysterious client hung up, apparently not needing any more info - which only confirmed his suspicion of secret codes.

Bryant sighed and leaned back in the bed. Part of him wanted to delve into the mystery he had apparently become part of - he felt as if he was staring at one of those weird pictures made up of squiggles and blobs that, if only you managed to focus right, dissolved themselves and became a 3D image... But nothing happened - the clues refused to gel together in any meaningful way. Answers that he felt were just out of the corner of his eye stubbornly stayed there, and finally he gave up.

Before falling asleep again, he briefly wondered what Buffy had become involved in, and what the consequences of his call might be.

***

In Rome’s Slayer headquarters the girl in question was in the midst of a training session with her fellow slayers, focussing on the importance of holding back on their powers when dealing with ordinary people.

In a hire shop on the other side of town Andrew was, with some help from Dawn, trying on a tux, doing his best to look suave and nonchalant.

To the south of Rome, in the glorious sunshine outside the space ships’s shields, Jack whistled happily as he with great care wrapped up a motley collection of items, including the navigation system, pieces of the outer hull, and a few fragments of the broken engine.

And in LA two vampires boarded a plane, meaning to rescue a fair maiden, when really they ought to have known better.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it is here! _The Girl in Question_ from The Immortal's side. Trying to work out the Immortal's movements from what we saw on screen (backwards & in high heels...) was not as easy as it hopefully seems. Enjoy! :)

_Spike: Don't believe him for a second. The Immortal's neck-deep in all of this._  
_Angel: 'Course he is. He's screwin' us. He's screwed us before, and he's screwin' us now._

**Wednesday 21st of April. Early evening.**

Manoeuvering the Jeep through Rome’s evening traffic, Jack contemplated dropping by the hospital to check on Bryant. Not personally of course - charming his way into being left alone with a computer for a couple of minutes ought to do the trick. 

Not that he was worried, exactly, but it’d be nice to make sure that the man was OK... Sure he’d seemed lucid enough the night before when Jack had paid him a little visit, but Jack liked to be on the safe side and he had some time to kill before he was meeting up with Buffy. 

Although first he’d better drop off the day’s load of alien artefacts at the local branch of UNIT, maybe switch cars? A Jeep wasn’t really the best vehicle for navigating the narrow streets where tonight’s club was situated.

Then he spotted a little figure walking along in the long shadows - the ears were quite unmistakable - burdened down by several large shopping bags. Curbing a smile he pulled over, ignoring the random loud exclamations from other drivers, and rolled down the window.

“Giuseppe! Would you like a lift?”

The demon turned at the sound of his voice, and then did the most adorable half-shuffle - clearly caught between embarrassment and delight, and unsure how to respond.

“Immortal - I could not possibly-”

“Hey - look on it as a favour to me. It’s not every day I get to see ears as fabulous as yours!”

He winked and the demon would probably have blushed if he was capable of it. Instead he stopped protesting and loaded his shopping into the car before settling down, thanking Jack profusely all the while.

“So,” Jack cut in as he once more braved the traffic, “How come you are doing the shopping - if I may ask? If I remember correctly Tecla never trusted anyone else with that task...”

“Oh, poor Tecla! It is her hip, you see...” there followed a long tale detailing the woes of Tecla’s hip - how she needed a walking stick these days and how the waiting list for the shaman was much too long and they were thinking of complaining to the proper authorities. When that subject had been exhausted Giuseppe started on a extended complaint about elderly demons who went on business trips when they should have stayed at home, instead causing their hosts severe headaches.

As Jack helped him carry the bags into the house, Tecla appeared and hijacked the monologue, filling in the rather vital detail that if this Capo di Famiglia wasn’t returned to his family in LA within a certain time frame the result would be a bloodbath.

Jack shot the inauspicious-looking bag that contained the Capo’s remains a speculative look.

“I could probably give you a hand with that...”

Giuseppe shook his head vehemently. “Oh no no no. Do not worry, Immortal. The Capo was client of Wolfram e Hart - they have sent people to pick it up. It will be fine.”

It wasn’t until he’d finished the cup of coffee that Tecla had insisted he have that the dots joined up in his head. 

Wolfram & Hart + LA = Angel.

For a long moment he sat still, turning the situation over in his head, and had almost decided to just get home and change before meeting up with Buffy when he with a jolt remembered the P.I. who had to have woken up by now...

Oh _crap. _

Sighing deeply he pulled out his phone and asked if they’d mind him making a swift call. As soon as he left the kitchen he heard Tecla start to grouse about Giuseppe’s shopping and all the things he’d gotten wrong... 

Ignoring the argument he found the number for W&H, Rome, and moments later found himself dealing with Ilona’s PA, whom he thankfully managed to overawe within seconds.

“Immortal!” Ilona’s voice trilled into his ear. “Where have you been? You do not call, you do not write. You come to town and never make time for your old friend Ilona - is very sad! Especially since we have a new building that would benefit from your handsome face. It is very dull, but-” he could easily picture the shrug, “- is better than nothing.”

Despite himself he couldn’t help smiling and engage in the small talk. 

“A new building? What was wrong with the old one?”

“You have not heard? It collapsed! But it was extraordinary coincidence... inside were all my enemies who were plotting to kill me. And then - boom, crash - they were all dead. So tragic - remember how beautiful my office was? New one is too modern. I try to decorate a little - a woman’s touch you know... you must come see it! I am sure you remember my touch, mmm?”

“How could I ever forget?”

Damn, he _did_ miss her - it was rare to meet someone as ‘adventurous’ as her. On the other hand though, compared to Buffy... no he’d scored the jackpot this time round. Time to get down to business.

“Ilona... I actually called for a reason. I need a little info. Have you heard about the Capo di Famiglia?” 

He briefly explained the situation and then asked if she could find out who LA had sent to retrieve the head. Waiting was excruciating, but when the answer finally came it didn’t make things any better.

Spike and Angel... en route to Rome. 

What to do?

For a moment he imagined whisking Buffy off to the airport, watch her face as she saw Spike getting off the plane... Best surprise _ever._

On the other hand... Spike probably had his own reasons for not wanting her to know that he was alive (Jack could easily think of plenty), and it was _possible_ that they were just here for the head. 

Not to mention the fact that he’d almost lost her once already, and given how little time they had he didn’t really want her to run off with someone else - especially since the someone else would never even bother to thank him. 

And then, given Bryant, it was quite conceivable that they’d decided to pick up straight where they’d left off last time and just mess around with him... They might even think he was dating Buffy just to spite them.

But he didn’t want to tackle them head-on - and also he didn’t want to miss out on the scheduled dancing with Buffy. Best to just... slip away.

“Immortal?” Ilona asked, and he realised he’d lost himself in thought.

“Um... sorry. Do you remember them? They tried to get in to my party that time - when we first met?”

“Ah yes, of _course_,” she laughed, and he chuckled in response. Her laughter was very infectious and... distracting. _Focus._

“Listen. Would you mind... if they happen to come your way... could you try to keep them away from me? I mean, they’re drop-dead gorgeous, but I’ve never been able to get along with them, and I’d like a quiet evening without anyone shouting outside. It upsets the servants.”

“No problem, Caro. If I see them, I shall keep them _all_ to myself. I like handsome vampires, especially ones as famous as these.”

“That’s the spirit,” he smiled, and - miraculously - ended the conversation without promising to visit.

What next? Buffy. He needed her out of her flat, since that would probably be their first port of call... (He tried his best not think about how much easier this would all be back in Torchwood, where everything he could possibly need was, literally, at his fingertips.)

Seconds later he was listening to Buffy musing about what to wear. 

Trying his best not to sound impatient, he asked her if she’d mind hurrying up? He was on his way to the club already and, given all the Spring Break totty, they’d better get there early or there would be no room on the dance floor. 

“OK, I’ll be quick,” she replied, sighing.

“Excellent. Oh - by the way, could you put Andrew on? I might have heard of an apartment...”

From the muffled sounds he could pick up she practically threw the phone at her house guest, and before the boy could speak Jack began.

“Listen - I’m supposedly talking to you about a new flat. However, I need your help.”

Andrew squeaked - whether this was from excitement or resentment Jack couldn’t tell, nor cared.

“First of all, get Buffy out the door as quickly as you can. Get Dawn to help you if necessary.”

“Um - Dawn’s out already.”

“Oh. Well, that makes life easier. Here’s the thing. Our two favourite vampires in the whole world are on their way to Rome, and I’m not sure why. OK, they have legitimate business in town, but it’s possible that they are going to come looking for Buffy. If they _do_ come knocking on your door, I want you to do your best to distract them.”

“What?” Andrew squeaked (this time with definite panic). “But... but what will I tell them if they begin... you know... asking questions?”

And this boy had once thought himself a ‘master villain’? Jack curbed an intense desire to call Andrew many derogatory names.

“Tell them the truth, obviously.”

“But... but...”

Jack sighed deeply, and looked out of the window and into the darkness that had now fallen over the town. What he wouldn’t give to have Suzie instead of this young fool. But he had to work with what he had.

“The easiest way of lying is not to do it at all - to carefully edit what you say. You’re a bright kid Andy, I’m sure you know what I mean. Just don’t let on that you know that I’m onto them.” He thought for a moment, then decided that a little honesty of his own might be the best way of getting the boy on his side. 

“Look, I just want to hang onto Buffy for a little longer, OK? They have forever to chase her, I have right now, so a little help would be very welcome. Oh - and try your best to hide or sabotage Buffy’s mobile phone.”

There was a pause. “You’re kinda a control freak, you know that?”

Jack chuckled. “Kiddo, you have _no_ idea. And by the way, if you screw up? I’ll find you an extra special place in The Room of Pain. Goodbye!”

He shut off another squeak and walked back to his demon hosts. 

“I have to be off, sorry about abusing your hospitality. Just one thing. I know the guys who’re coming to pick up your head and...” He wondered how to frame the information. 

“As it happens I’m dating their ex-girlfriend. I don’t know what they think about that, but you might want to keep an eye on them, just to make sure that they actually get back in time, since it’s possible that they’ll get... _distracted_. If you need help, I could probably get the head to LA - just give me a call. Here’s my number...”

He left amid abundant gratitude and set off for the club, thinking to himself that he was probably just getting paranoid in his old age. Both Spike and Angel had become genuine heroes since last they'd met, so there was no reason why they’d still consider him their enemy... Who knew, maybe the Capo was a friend of theirs? It could be... 

It had been more than a century since Darla and Dru, so it was within the realm of possibility that that they were OK with Buffy dancing with whomever she chose, right?

Lips curving into a deep smile he contemplated the joys of dancing with Buffy, and banished all vampires to the very back of his mind.

***

The banishment was very successful.

Partly, of course, because of Buffy, who turned up wearing a lovely white top, tight in all the right places and almost gleaming against her golden skin. And how she danced - she was a bright and bold flame that he never had the slightest chance of holding, but whose light warmed him all the way through. 

What she needed, he thought, was someone who could nurture that fire forever, relish the light and yet shelter it... someone who had only one life, and could devote it to her, and her only.

He could tell that the people watching thought her a little wild... figured she was some American student he’d picked up, spreading her wings. He smiled as he contemplated the fact that this was just time off for her. That her real dancing was far more dangerous and a misstep could mean death. 

It was one of those moments when he wished, fiercely, that he could allow himself the luxury of falling in love with her.

And then the moment was lost. 

It took a few seconds before he registered the sounds of fighting that were coming from the other end of the long, narrow room, but when he did, he stopped and tried to look over the heads of the crowd.

The sight that met his eyes was not good for his blood pressure. As far as he knew there was only one person in the world with that precise combination of bright-white hair and lethal fighting skills.

Andrew, he grimly decided, was the greatest idiot known to mankind - ‘telling the truth’ quite _obviously_ didn’t mean ‘tell them exactly where we’re going’. Unless it was belated payback...

Buffy - of course - was curious too, so he had to pull her back, immensely grateful for her short stature.

“Do you really want to get involved in a bar brawl?” he asked, sneaking a hand around her ass. “We could nip out the back and have some... _fun_, instead.”

(It was all about prioritising: Distract Buffy _now_ \- think of a suitable punishment for Andrew _later._)

“You’re evil,” she countered, eyes glittering with mischief, although as he ushered her out the back door, she stopped and frowned.

“You OK?” he asked, and she did an odd little shudder. “Yeah. I just... no, that’s ridiculous.”

Once outside in a dark back alley (the walls rough and still warm from the sun), he did his best to make her forget anything except what he was doing to her - and his best was pretty darn good, if he said so himself... It had, on occasion, saved his life back when that had still been a concern, and Buffy didn’t stand a chance. Especially since she didn’t know that it was a diversion tactic. Neither of them noticed a screeching of tyres from the strada.

But just as things were getting interesting his phone began warbling out ‘My Immortal’.

Swearing in a language that wouldn’t exist for another 3000 years, Jack pulled out the phone. Caller ID revealed that it was Giuseppe, so answering was obviously the only option. He was rewarded with a long complaint about the fickleness of vampires - culminating in the statement that Giuseppe would rather hand the Capo’s head to a Sluggoth demon than those irresponsible creatures, so could he maybe prevail upon The Immortal to-?

Jack sighed, wondering why it was _always_ the same story with those two. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Just _once_? If he didn’t know better he’d have thought that they’d bumped off the Capo just to have an excuse to turn up.

“Of course I’ll help. Where are you? I’ll come and get the head immediately. There can’t be much time to spare now.”

Switching off the phone he turned to Buffy, smiling apologetically.

“So... how do you feel about helping stop a demon war?”

She pulled a face. “But these are new shoes. Can’t someone else do it? I think Bella and Christina are on patrol duty tonight...”

He laughed, planted a swift kiss on her lips and then took her hand, leading her back to where he’d parked the Jeep.

“No worries my Princess, all you need to do is look after a bag.”

She got into the car, not looking remotely convinced.

“Is it like a _special, magical bag_ that needs to be carried by a Slayer or it explodes? ‘Cause there are still plenty of other girls who can do that, and you could pick up where you left off.”

She shot him a significant look, and he had to force himself to start the engine and set off. Typical for his tactics to rebound, he thought grumpily, and driving along cobbled streets in a Jeep was just as tricky as he’d thought it would be. Trying his best to keep the rumbling to the bare minimum and glancing worriedly into the back - hoping that he’d packed everything as tightly as he thought - he explained the situation.

“Right, there’s this guy - the Capo di Famiglia of the Goran demon clan - who happened to die on a business trip here in Rome. He - or rather his head - needs to get back home within a certain time frame so his family can reanimate him or something. I can’t really remember, it sounded gross so I zoned out. Anyway, if they don’t get him back there’ll be a power-vacuum and I’m sure you can fill out the rest yourself. So I, unselfish person that I am, have agreed to get him a lift back home to the US of A.”

She tilted her head. “How?”

“By borrowing another plane off my army friends.” Seeing the look on her face, he shook his head.

“Oh I’m not flying this time. But as it happens I have something they want anyway, so really it’s just a lot of back-scratching.”

Moments later they arrived at the meeting place where Giuseppe stood like a tiny little tower of Italian propriety, bag clutched in his hands and a surprisingly nifty sports car parked behind him.

“Would you mind waiting?” Jack asked Buffy, and then got out before she could answer. It was decidedly tricky to keep her out of the loop, but he couldn’t exactly send her home...

“Immortal, we are forever indebted to you.”

“Hey, it’s no problem, honestly. I was just wondering - what about our dear undead acquaintances?”

Giuseppe smiled, modest but with a wicked tinge. “I... have a little plan.”

Jack shook his head, trying to imagine one Italian butler against the two worst vampires of all time... He knew where he’d put _his_ money. 

“Knock yourself out. Just remember that Wolfram & Hart will be very cross if you actually damage them permanently.”

The butler nodded, imperturbable as always, and Jack said goodbye and jumped back in the car. He tossed the bag to Buffy who immediately looked inside, and then zipped it up with rather too much vigour. 

“Note to self: Demon heads yukky.”

Carefully manoeuvring through the narrow cobbled streets, Jack pulled out his Torchwood phone, and - apologising to Buffy yet again - called up a certain UNIT general. He’d spent _hours_ of his life on the phone to the man, slowly and painstakingly going over where all the pieces of the alien spaceship should go, and it gave him intense satisfaction to demand a plane asap.

The discussion lasted until he was at his house, but Jack could quote directives and access codes with the best of them, and UNIT - as the good military institution it was - snapped to attention and did as it was told. It also gave him a perverse sense of pleasure to be discussing highly classified matters without Buffy being able to penetrate the language. 

(She could tell that he was showing off, but she merely rolled her eyes and shot him a look that let him know that she thought he was twelve. Extraordinary how all women - anywhere, anywhen - had that particular trait down to perfection.)

Parking the Jeep round the back - hoping that the vampires wouldn’t think to come to his house just yet - he turned to Buffy.

“Just need to get a couple of things, would you mind waiting? Again?”

She sighed, clearly resigned to sacrificing her evening on the altar of Greater Good. “Fine. I’ll stay and decorate the ugly car.”

“Excellent!” 

He ran in through the kitchen door and almost bumped into Francesca.

“Just the person I was looking for! Could you get me a card - something nice, but professional-looking? With a string of some sort? Right this very second?”

“Si, si,” she replied and disappeared off to wherever the stationery lived. Taking the stairs three steps at a time, he bounced into his office, unlocked the super secret briefcase and skimmed through all his carefully written ‘manuals’ - picking out the relevant ones and putting them in a folder, before swiftly scribbling the attendant codes on the front. 

At the bottom of the stairs he found Francesca waiting with a small cream coloured card and envelope, with a bright red ribbon attached.

“Perfect!” he grinned, planted a kiss on her cheek and disappeared out the kitchen door again to the waiting car. Tossing the folder into the back he sat down and dug out a pen from his pocket, wondering what sort of message to give his irritating arch-nemeses. 

Then he noticed Buffy watching with curiosity writ large on her face, and so he swiftly settled for 

_‘With regards, The Immortal’_

put the card in the envelope and handed it to her.

“Could you tie that onto a handle? Thank you! And get ready for a rough ride - speed is rather of the essence I’m afraid.”

***

Their arrival at the base was markedly different this time round. The guard had obviously been waiting for them, and - after a swift inspection of his papers and quoting the correct codes - they went straight through, a group of soldiers already waiting and ready to assist. Jack parked the Jeep, grateful that the airstrip was on the other side of the building - it’d put both distance and a blocked view between things and Buffy.

Telling her to sit tight he jumped out and took charge - he might be showing off a little (or maybe a lot), but there was something inherently satisfying about getting the machinery of an army to work. Grabbing the folder, he stopped briefly and caught Buffy’s eyes as he relieved her of her bag duty.

“I am _really_ sorry about how tonight turned out - I promise to make it up to you. As soon as I’m done here we can do anything you like, OK?”

***

She nodded, and he ran after the soldiers, busy making sure that they didn’t drop the mysterious, ‘classified’ boxes of who-knew-what. But she noticed that he didn’t let go of the bag.

Sighing deeply she sat back in her seat. ‘Help’ stop a demon war indeed - it had obviously been his polite way of asking if she’d like to tag along, rather than be dumped back at her empty flat, or left behind on her own in the club. Last time she’d been at this base she’d felt like a third wheel - this time she wasn’t even that. She was no-wheel Buffy. Unneeded, unimportant Buffy. 

Also: Bored Buffy.

Her frustration reminded her of a conversation she’d had with Dawn after the whole Baxter thing... She’d still been thrown by the ‘accept my boundaries or leave’ ultimatum, but Dawn had said something that had resonated: ‘It seems like you finally found a guy who’s not made you the centre of his world’.

It was more than that though... He had a whole life that she was no part of, and that he wasn’t interested in sharing. To be fair he treated her slaying in the same way - he’d never even suggested helping her out with patrolling or training or... anything really. He quite simply trusted her to run her own life, and expected the same courtesy in return.

Which meant trusting him, despite his obvious secrecy... 

She started drumming her fingers on the armrest. What on earth was keeping him? How long did it take to hand over a bag?

Desperate for a diversion she turned on the radio, and for a few minutes listened to a news report, read out in that rapid staccato common to all radio broadcasts.

Her Italian wasn’t good enough to catch more than a few snippets, but from what she could gather there had been some sort of explosion in the middle of Rome... but no casualties. Typical - the second she left, interesting stuff happened. She reached for her cellphone, intending to call Bella and ask her to investigate, but then remembered that she hadn’t been able to find it when she went out. 

Then the radio started playing Barry Manilov and she turned it off. The Immortal better grovel _a lot_ when he came back.

***

As he supervised the alien items being carefully and safely packed away in the plane, Jack couldn’t help frowning.

“Where’s the pilot?” he asked, and then let his eyes follow a thumb jabbed over the shoulder of a retreating private. And suddenly he was smiling widely.

“Ermanno! Why am I not surprised that you’re the best pilot around?”

The soldier looked taken aback and a little confused - clearly he’d not been told anything besides ‘Immediate work - get ready!’ - and Jack stepped forwards.

“Now _this_, is brilliant. First of all, have you ever handled alien technology?”

Ermanno shook his head. 

“Well, now’s your chance. Although I presume I don’t need to tell you not to have an experimental poke around? All the details are classified, but I’ve got a bunch of items here for NASA - specifically the Ames and Dryden Research Centres, California.”

“NASA?” the soldier asked, voice breathless, excitement spreading over his features as he took the folder Jack held out.

“I always-” he stopped, a little embarrassed, but Jack tilted his head.

“What?”

“I always dreamed of being an astronaut, when I was little. I would look up at the stars - so bright and shining - pretend I could travel out there in a real spaceship, meet aliens - be a hero, a... an adventurer, an explorer discovering new worlds. Instead...” he was clearly a little abashed still, but Jack kept silent, watching him intently.

“Instead I found out that while I cannot go out there, sometimes the stars come down here - only fragments, and often bearing danger, but always extraordinary. I thought I was dreaming when UNIT recruited me, when I discovered the truth...”

His voice trailed off, and Jack swallowed involuntarily. That bright excitement, the radiant hopes and dreams... he remembered feeling like that, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to wrap himself up in youth and innocence and a world of wonder. Wished he could take this boy and show him the stars for real, see galaxies reflected in his eyes and feel him vibrate with the sheer, unadulterated joy of endless possibility. 

But he was Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood - swagger and innuendo and utter ruthlessness - and there were certain things he couldn’t have (not now, maybe not _ever_). And this was one of them. 

“I had dreams _just like that_ when I grew up,” he replied, smiling warmly, trying his best to find that tone that verged just on the edge of friendship, but wanted to promise more - that aching longing that said _‘If only things were different...’_

Ermanno smiled back, hair ruffling ever so slightly in the night’s breeze, and Jack had to fight against the sudden urge to push him up against the plane and - well, do all sorts of things. Except they were actually in a hurry...

“But- I have another mission for you, beside the alien tech. I believe you were told to bring a set of civilian clothes?”

The young man nodded, pointing towards the plane, and Jack smiled.

“Excellent! Now - this mission is undercover and classified up to the eyeballs, I’m afraid. On the plus-side it is very straightforward, although time is of the essence. What you have to do, is to first of all go to LA. There you need to change into the civilian clothes and go to this address.” He handed over a slip of paper with Wolfram & Hart’s address. “It’s a law firm, and they need _this_-” he held up the bag, “within the next few hours or there’s going to be civil war.”

A somewhat startled look. “Civil war?”

“Yup. So it’s important you get there as quickly as possible, got it? The code name is ‘Capo di Famiglia’.”

A nod, and Jack continued, studying him. “I don’t suppose you’ve been in contact with non-human life forms?”

Ermanno shook his head, curiosity peeking out of the now professional facade.

“No, sir. But we have been given a lot of instruction during training.”

“Good. You see, the law firm in question has a very... _broad_ workforce. I can trust you to act normally, yes?”

“Of course, sir!” was the eager reply, and Jack smiled. 

“Finally, I want you to make sure that the bag is placed on the CEO’s desk, OK?”

The Sergeant nodded, and Jack handed over the bag.

This was goodbye... for good, since Jack knew that he’d have to stay the hell away from this place from now on. Entirely too much mixing of aliases for his liking. Still - no need to let that stop him from making a lasting impression. 

Stepping forward half a step he put his hands on the young man’s neck and leaned in, closed his eyes, and gently let their lips meet, savouring the taste. One kiss wasn’t much, but it was more than nothing... 

Pulling away he smiled softly, but with an edge of good old-fashioned camaraderie. “Good luck soldier. Break some records.”

“Y-yes Captain,” Ermanno replied, looking flushed and somewhat shaken, breath uneven. Jack wanted to lick him.

Instead he stepped back, saluted, and the soldier responded without thinking - the familiarity of the ritual sharply refocussing his mind.

With one last lingering look Jack turned and walked away.

How long had it been since he’d had a genuine pilot in his bed... especially one as gorgeous as Sergeant Mancini? Not to mention a threesome? Buffy could do with her horizons widening...

Quelling his pointless wishful thinking he found the base’s commanding officer, needing to inform him of the little extra trip that had been added. He could vividly imagine the consternation this would have caused back in England, but this was Italy and things were... different.

(One of the first lessons of a Time Agent: Learn the culture. _Use_ it.) 

And this country’s culture was wonderful. A favour for a favour - no fuss, no red tape. Grazie. Prego. Kiss-kiss. Everybody going home happy.

But when he finally got back to the car he saw that Buffy wasn’t going to be that easy to placate. She didn’t speak until he’d fastened the seat belt, then pursed her lips.

“OK. So I’ve been playing along, being the good girlfriend. _Now_, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

He shot her a guarded look as he turned the key. There was no point in pretending that he hadn’t been keeping things from her...

“No.”

She studied him silently for a moment, and part of him held his breath, wondering if he was in for another inquisition. But then she sighed, shaking her head.

“It’s lucky for you that you’re so pretty.”

He couldn’t help grinning at that, and waved at the guard, feeling that deep satisfaction that came with a successfully executed job. Sure the head wasn’t in LA yet, but he trusted Ermanno to do his part - delegation, that was the key. Now he just had to pacify his girlfriend, who still looked fairly determined and not-letting-him-off-the-hook.

“What was in the boxes? Those that you gave the soldiers?”

“Um... nothing dangerous.” He caught the narrowing of her eyes, and shook his head vehemently. 

“I swear, it was all harmless... just some fancy, but broken, machinery. Far more harmless than a demon head.”

She still didn’t look particularly appeased, so he resorted to apologising for the umpteenth time that night.

“Look, I’m sorry. Really, truly, sorry. This kinda blindsided me. I’ll make it up to you, seriously. Your wish is my command.”

She did an odd little smile. “Fine. Surprise me!”

For a few seconds his mind went completely blank, except for thinking that she was one hell of a smart girl - now he had to think of something spectacular enough to make up for a ruined evening, but without a clue about what she wanted. To buy some time he rolled down the window, the rich fragrances of the countryside at night filling the car and reminding him of Ermanno - eyes bright and wide - and he suddenly knew exactly where to go.

“Why don’t we go to an observatory? I promised to show you the stars, remember?”

His suggestion clearly took her by surprise - which meant that he had won already - and then she nodded a cautious OK.

“Great! I think the best place might be Monte Porzio Catone. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’ll be worth it, trust me!”

He smiled happily, thinking that even if Spike and Angel hung around all night trying to find them, an observatory was the last place they’d ever think to look. 

Letting one hand rest on Buffy’s leg - so warm, so solid, so eminently nibbleable - he briefly wondered if Spike and Angel were chasing the actual Buffy, or just a chimera... something that could save them, fix them, make them fit - something to light up their world and be a guiding star in the darkness.

But you couldn’t catch a star... 

You had to wait for it to come to you - even if it felt like the waiting was killing you.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally the Scoobies meet The Immortal. :)

_Willow: And there's sparkage?  
Buffy: Yeah. He's— have you seen his arms? Those are good arms to have. I really like him. I do.  
~  
Xander: I totally get it now. Can I have sex with Riley too?  
~  
Giles: Buffy, I want more for you. _

**Saturday 1st of May. Late afternoon.**

“So Suzie,” Jack said, leaning back in his office chair and casually admiring his portrait on the wall. Why weren’t leggings fashionable at the moment? He never got to show off his legs. 

“Do you have any plans for May Day?”

Suzie snorted with derision. “Plans? Knowing Torchwood, we’ll probably be knee-deep in aliens that look like Morris-dancers or something equally ridiculous.”

Jack chuckled. “Believe it or not, but I remember that happening once. Thankfully Anstoans are a relatively peaceful species, and we had the means to fix their spaceship, so all in all it was quite a fun day. They communicate by dancing - trust me, you’ve seen _nothing_ until you’ve watched a whole Torchwood team jumping around slapping their thighs trying to say ‘Have a nice trip home’ and managing to insinuate that... Um, nevermind. My point is, you have to stop being such a pessimist! Maybe you’ll get a bunch of Chippendale auditionees through the rift? Oh, and if that happens I want photos. And video. Actually - just lock them up and I’ll be on the next flight back.”

“Hmph. As if. What have _you_ got planned by the way - excessive sun tanning followed by ravaging as many Italian goddesses as you can find?”

Grinning, Jack picked up a stake Buffy had left behind the night before, trying to balance it on his finger. “Truth be told... tonight I’m hosting a dinner party for a superhero and her family and friends.”

There was a short pause at the other end of the line, and Jack bit his lip. 

“_Her?_ Are we talking Wonder Woman?”

Bless Suzie and her incredible cynicism - she’d not believe him in a million years. He smiled. “Oh no, this one’s blonde, although she _is_ American. And her best friends are a redheaded lesbian witch and a one-eyed carpenter.”

He could almost _hear_ her rolling her eyes.

“Jack... no matter what your dreams are, I don’t think Hollywood is ever going to call. A psychiatrist might though.”

He pouted. “Suzie, you have no faith in me.”

“No Jack, I have _every_ faith in you - especially when it comes to your outrageous imagination.”

He sighed theatrically. “Well _someone_ has to keep morale up, Miss Workaholic.”

“And _someone_ has to get the work done. Which reminds me - guess who called yesterday?”

He mulled it over for a moment. “The Prime Minister of Venezuela. They’ve discovered Torchwood 4 hiding in a capivara community.”

Now she was gritting her teeth. He really ought to stop, or poor Tosh might have a less than pleasant day tomorrow. Thankfully she took a deep breath and ignored his flippancy.

“None other than Miss Hartman herself.”

He frowned - why hadn’t she told him earlier? 

“You are _kidding_! What did Queen Yvonne the First want?”

There was a pause - Suzie was obviously enjoying making him wait.

“She wanted to borrow our mind probe.”

“_Did_ she now...” He dearly wished he could have taken that call himself - partly because he always relished telling Yvonne exactly where she could stick it. 

“Well isn’t that interesting. What did you tell her?”

There was an unmistakably smug tone to Suzie’s voice as she answered. 

“That she didn’t need a brain-probe to know what I was thinking.”

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back and slapping his leg.

“Oh Suzie! _You_ are Wonder Woman!”

“Well you ought to know, since - as far as I can work out - you’re the self-proclaimed Wonder Man.”

He laughed again, fondly. Prickly and sharp and always ahead of the game, that was his girl. 

“Suzie, Suzie, Suzie. Could it be that we are soulmates after all? Actually, can you imagine our children? They’d be unstoppable!”

There was a sudden warmth by his ear. “‘Could it be that we are soulmates?’ Should I be jealous here?”

He felt sure that his heart skipped a beat, and he whirled round (in as much as whirling was possible in the chair) and stared straight into Buffy’s mischievous eyes.

“Holy- don’t _do_ that! Wait- How much did you hear?”

“Paranoid much?” she said drolly, at the same time as Suzie began bristling at the other end. 

“For christsakes Jack, having a holiday fling is all well and good, but I sincerely hope you’re being a bit more careful than this.”

He rubbed his head. _Women._

“You-” he pointed to Buffy, “out.” Seeing that she was about to speak, he held up his hand, index finger raised.

“My house, my rules. I can only cope with one domineering woman harassing me at a time, OK? I’ll be with you in a moment.”

She rolled her eyes and left, swiping the stake on the way, and he sank back in the chair, desperately trying to remember what he’d said. 

“‘My house, my rules’?” Suzie echoed, incredulous. “Either you’ve found a total doormat, or she’s going to rip you a new one.”

“Oh it’s the latter,” he said, happily. “Looking forward to it actually, she’s... feisty.”

“Whatever. If she gives you the black eye you deserve, please send a photo, I need something to cheer me up. Do you need more retcon by the way?”

The implications in her words was hard to miss, and he shook his head silently.

“I’ve got plenty left, don’t worry.”

After he’d said goodbye he sat still for a moment, staring out of the window, his mind too full of thoughts to notice the view. 

Buffy’s interruption had been a timely reminder of how carefully he needed to tread tonight. And what Suzie didn’t know was that in this instance there was no possibility of covering up any slips with retcon... these people would investigate any sudden memory loss with the utmost care, he was sure. 

But that just raised the stakes, making the game more exciting. He better go find Buffy - if she was here, her friends should be arriving soon. It felt a little like Christmas, since he’d been very, very good and not ‘researched’ them at all - apart from what Buffy, Dawn and Andrew had told him, everything would be a genuine surprise. 

He grinned and skipped down the stairs. Time to face the music... and dance!

***

Despite her earlier teasing, it was clear that Buffy was a bundle of nerves. Dawn was oscillating between being supportive and telling Buffy that it was hardly the end of the world - which earned her glares, but stopped Buffy fretting for whole minutes at a time. Andrew, displaying copious amounts of self-preservation, lurked silently in the background, as Jack promised for the millionth time too keep his flirting set to non-existent.

Then, finally, a taxi pulled up outside and there was a sudden flurry of hugs and ‘welcome’s and ‘how have you been?’s and ‘how was your trip?’s, interrupted only by Vittore’s silent acquisition of coats and luggage, to the guests’ evident bemusement. Jack hung back, watching and taking stock.

Willow was cute and quirky, and looked nothing like someone with the power to destroy the world - he’d have to keep an eye on her. Her girlfriend - Kennedy - was stunning and had obviously been handed a larger than average portion of self-confidence. Xander was quite the dish too, all tanned and rakish with his eye patch... and Jack wasn’t even allowed to flirt. Typical.

Still - he was the host, and that role was one he relished. Smile, charm and impenetrable mystery at the ready, he stepped forward.

The introductions went smoothly, and he followed up with the obligatory house-tour. Willow and Xander were rather awestruck at the size of it; unlike Kennedy who began inquiring about upkeep, staffing and security.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Can I just ask why exactly _I_ paid for those plane tickets, Little Miss Loaded?”

Kennedy wasn’t fazed for a moment, meeting his eyes head-on.

“I figured that you’d be a relic from the age of patriarchy who would never allow a woman to pay her own way.”

He stared at her, jaw dropping - and then laughed so hard he could barely breathe, needing to reach out and steady himself on Buffy.

When he finally began catching his breath, carefully wiping his eyes, Andrew coughed politely.

“You should read his book,” he said casually, causing Jack to crack up again and Kennedy - and the two others - to look even more confused. Getting himself under control, Jack finally managed to address her.

“My dear Miss Kennedy, you should listen to young Mr Wells here, he knows what he’s talking about. Trust me - I can _guarantee_ that I’m not like any other man you’ve ever met.”

Seeing the skepticism on the young woman’s face, he leaned forward - far enough into her personal space that she’d get _just_ a hint of pheromones. 

“Let’s just say that I’m an equal opportunities kinda guy in _every_ sense of the word - so get out of those metaphorical dungarees and flat shoes and just enjoy yourself, OK?”

He smiled widely, holding her eyes, and saw the telltale hesitation and uncertainty. Oh he was _good_, and he loved this game. 

The rest of the ‘tour’ went by without any incident, and they ended up in one of the smaller sitting rooms where pre-dinner drinks were being served, since they had to wait for Giles whose flight had been delayed. And, as was often the case on such occasions, Buffy’s friends demanded to hear about how the two of them had met.

“...and - that’s it. Except I can’t go to that café anymore because the waiter keeps asking me about him,” Buffy finished, pointing to Jack.

“There was also the party!” Dawn added, and Jack grinned. 

“Thought I’d won the jackpot - two girls for the price of one.”

“That is _still_ not funny,” Buffy said drolly, and he pulled his best innocent face.

“I’m just saying - there’s plenty of space in my bed for two Summerses!”

He smiled his most winsome smile at Dawn, but she just rolled her eyes and made an ‘M’ with her fingers to remind him of Marco. Who of course would also be welcome... those leather trousers left very little to the imagination.

“So, incest is not a problem for you?” Xander asked lightly, clearly thinking the whole thing was only a joke.

Jack shrugged. “Not really. Dated these twin acrobats once...” he let a wide grin fill in the rest of the sentence, and Xander blinked.

“O...kay...” Willow said, doubtfully, but Xander shot her a droll look. 

“Have to say, most guys have dreamt of that one. Were they blonde?”

Jack shook his head, happily casting his mind back. “Dark-haired. Extra_ordinarily_ limber. Wouldn’t mind a few more boyfriends of that variety.”

“_Boy_-friends...” Xander said dubiously, clearly unsure whether Jack was having him on or not.

Jack quirked an eyebrow, and turned back to Dawn, eyes narrowing. 

“Although - to get back to the point - if I understood the story of how you came about correctly, it wouldn’t be incest but masturbation.”

He winked, and Dawn threw a hand over her mouth, eyes bubbling with outraged delight.

Buffy cleared her throat. “OK, I think you’ve fulfilled your ‘shocking-my-friends’ quota for tonight. Can we change the subject please?”

“Fine. We’ll discuss the finer point of decapitation instead, shall we?”

She mock-punched him, obviously beginning to relax, but then their attention was redirected.

“Mister Rupert Giles,” Vittore’s voice announced, and Jack turned, mentally reminding himself his role - polite, affable and correct to a fault... 

And then stopped.

In the doorway stood a vision - or as close to one as Jack had seen in many years.

Abandoning the Scoobie gaggle without a thought, he walked forwards, warmly grasping Giles’ reluctant hand.

“Welcome, Mr Giles. It is a great, _great_ pleasure to have you here.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Giles replied stiffly, just as Buffy appeared at their side, smiling nervously.

Jack turned to her, trying his best not to let too much hurt seep into his voice. 

“You lied to me,” he stated simply, and he could see the immediate confusion and alarm on her face.

“What?” she asked, as Jack reluctantly let go of Giles’ hand.

“You said ‘fatherly’. I was thinking... Oh, Stephen Fry, maybe with a dash of Paxman?” He stopped briefly, letting his eyes dwell on the Head of the Council of Watchers.

“Instead you’ve brought me Peter O’Toole. _Vintage_ Peter O’Toole.”

For a few horrified seconds Buffy was speechless, then her jaw set and a deadly look came into her eyes.

“You _promised_-”

Holding up his hands to mime innocence, he cut her off. “I promised not to hit on your _friends_. I doubt that Mr Giles falls into that category.”

Then he grinned cheekily.

“Did I never tell you have a special weakness for Englishmen in suits?”

The man in question looked somewhat unsure at what was going on, but Buffy knew Jack well enough by now to have figured out where his head was at.

“Oh. My- I swear to _God_, if you hit on Giles I will walk out and never, _ever_ return.”

He made a show of considering this. 

“Would he make it worth my while?” he asked, carefully letting his eyes trail over the Watcher from head to toes. 

“I beg your pardon?” Giles stuttered, his face a mask of shocked disapproval and his whole body tense. Jack couldn’t help following the lines of the suit - he could easily tell that here was a man still fighting fit and in prime shape. And wearing tweed. 

“_Immortal_...” Buffy said in her most intimidating voice, and Jack sighed deeply in defeat, before catching Giles’ hostile eyes.

“I’m sorry. Really. Forgive an old man, overcome by nostalgia?”

Vintage Peter O’Toole did not look like he was in a forgiving mood, and Buffy was clearly contemplating banging her head - or probably _his_ \- against the wall, so Jack grabbed a tray from the sideboard and held it forward with as much apology as he could cram into his eyes.

“Please, have a drink? Dinner should be served in a few minutes and we can pretend this never happened. Deal?” 

Helping himself to a glass, Giles gave him a long, inscrutable and bone-chilling look (his thoughts probably not fit to print), but Jack had lived through generations of Torchwood leaders with the exact same mien, and offered an unconcerned this-is-totally-not-awkward-smile in return. 

Buffy was glaring daggers, and her friends were looking somewhat stunned, but he couldn’t find it in him to care all that much. If nothing else he’d unsettled the Watcher thoroughly, even though he’d used different means than planned. And he really hadn’t meant to cause Buffy grief, but _damn_. He’d thought men like Giles had died out years ago.

Then the ever-unperturbable Vittore announced that dinner was served, and everyone filed into the dining room, grateful for the diversion.

“What _was_ that?” he heard Kennedy whisper, and smiled to himself as Dawn replied. 

“Just The Immortal being himself.”

“Seriously?”

“M-hm!” was the confident answer.

As Jack held Buffy’s chair he caught Kennedy studying him and winked at her. The visit was already even more fun than he’d imagined, and they’d barely started yet.

Dinner soon worked its magic, making his young guests relaxed and talkative, and Jack found himself silently watching; all of them full of stories that would make most people boggle with disbelief, but for these guys mostly notable for unexpected mishaps or hilarity.

He could tell that they skirted around and over a lot of topics - things too painful, or awkward, to bring up - but even so they clearly enjoyed each other’s company, full of that genuine ease that only came with deep familiarity.

If he could have, he’d have wrapped them up and kept them forever, but he was thrown out of his thoughts when Xander addressed him.

“So, um, Buffy never mentioned that you’re American.”

Keeping as straight a face as possible, Jack swallowed the mouthful he was chewing, wanting to savour the moment.

“Why do you think I’m American?”

Xander frowned. “Well...”

Picking up his glass and leaning back in his chair, he let his eyes sweep over the table. 

“I think this accent suits me - don’t you? I know it comes with certain connotations, but quite frankly they suit me too, so it’s win-win.”

He flashed a perfect pearly-white grin at them, and Willow’s eyes narrowed.

“So, what accent did you have originally?”

Chuckling he shook his head. “Oh you’re going to have to do _a lot_ better than that. But no truth spells, Missy. No spells _what-so-ever_ in this house, by the way, just in case Buffy forgot to mention it.”

She tilted her head, clearly eager to explore the topic. “So, you really don’t use magic?”

“Nope.”

“Like never? At all?”

“To the best of my knowledge, no.” He quirked a smile. “You know, I’ve actually thought of getting bumper stickers made: ‘Magic - just say no!’”

Willow looked rather taken aback. “But... why?”

Absent-mindedly he twirled his glass between his fingers. 

“Where to start? Well, if you want the most basic reason - I don’t understand it. And, generally, I don’t trust things I can’t understand.”

Seeing that Willow wasn’t following, he leaned forward. 

“Magic is very very powerful - it can, quite literally, change reality. But _how?_ What _is_ that power? Where does it come from?”

She was obviously not used to someone challenging the fundamentals of her world. “It’s... it’s just part of the world.”

He shook his head. “Not good enough. It works _counter_ to the world, it breaks all the natural laws and I have yet to find someone who can explain to me how and why.”

The Doctor would know, he thought - would reel off a simple explanation full of long words, smiling that ‘It’s elementary my dear Watson’ smile of his. Although on the list of things to ask the Doctor about once Jack found him again, magic really came rather far down... 

“Not to mention the fact that it’s dangerous,” he added.

Seeing that Willow was about to cut in, he held up a hand to stall her.

“I don’t object to danger. Guns are dangerous. Nuclear power is dangerous. _Cars_ kill thousands every year. I think all three are excellent additions to the world. Actually - that’s the other point. Say what you will about technology, but it’s democratic.”

Seeing that she wasn’t following he pulled out his mobile phone and held it up. 

“I’d take this phone over magic, any day. I can use it to call anyone in the world. It can take pictures. It’s connected to the internet so I can look up any information I want, or buy things... I can pretty much arrange my whole life with this one, simple gadget. And - so can anyone else. The technological revolution is world-wide, and it’s _changing_ the world, connecting it, helping it move _forward_. Magic doesn’t. Magic is _static_, and only ever helps the few who can wield it. OK, so I get that it’s useful for fighting bad guys, but tell me _one_ thing that magic has done in the last century that has improved life for ordinary people - the way, say, the washing machine has.”

There was an astonished silence around the table, and Jack smiled and picked up another forkful of food.

“Also, magic just plain freaks me out.”

He smiled at Buffy, and she smiled back, her earlier anger apparently forgotten. He figured that this was what she’d been hoping for when she’d agreed to the meet-up... a chance to show her friends that he was so much more than a rich playboy with a shady reputation. 

To his surprise it was Andrew who finally tried to come up with a counter-argument.

“Um... you can, you know, combine magic and science, make them, like, work together?”

Well this was new. He studied the boy with interest. “You serious? How?”

“We... I mean back in Sunnydale, we... the Trio... we built this invisibility gun.”

“An _invisibility_ gun? Really?”

He leaned forward - skeptical, yet curious. The invisibility shield on the Ettian ship was holding up surprisingly well, but even so he’d had to fix it twice, and he kept expecting it to suddenly fold and die. An alternative would be a godsend.

“Except it didn’t work,” Willow said, shooting Andrew a significant look.

“Did so!” Andrew shot back.

Buffy nodded. “I was invisible for most of a day. It was fun.” 

A small smile crept into the corner of her mouth and Jack shot her a searching look, causing her to blush. Lots of things you could do when invisible... Oh he _so_ had to get that story out of her at some point.

“But,” Willow cut through, in a very teacherly voice that was clearly used to winning arguments, “it made stuff turn into gloopy goo.”

“It was only a prototype,” Andrew protested. “We would have fixed that.”

Jacks' eyes narrowed - this sounded almost too good to be true. But it was worth a shot...

“Vittore! Fetch a large pad and some pencils.”

The butler reappeared moments later, bearing a pad and various writing implements. Jack - yet again - wished he could have a butler at Torchwood, but he knew that Suzie would laugh him out of the Hub if he suggested it.

“OK Andrew - do you think you could rustle up a blueprint for your invisi-gun?”

The boy startled, surprised. “Umm... maybe? It was Warren’s baby really...”

Willow looked speculative. “I saw your plans. Maybe we could do it between us?”

Andrew nodded, and Jack smiled triumphantly. This was the great thing about geeks of any kind - they got too carried away with a concept to stop and ask whether they _should_.

“Excellent!” he said, “get cracking. And don’t stint on the long, dull calculations.”

Willow shot him a guarded look. “It’s a little complicated...” 

This was obviously her way of politely insinuating that it’d be way beyond him. Jack chuckled. 

“Pretend I’m Einstein. There’s no point in doing anything by halves is there?”

Getting the rest of the table caught up in one of his more outrageous stories was easy work, which left his two magical friends free to work on the blueprint. 

When they were finished he walked round the table and looked over their shoulders, taking in the design.

“Looks nice. I like big guns.”

Andrew fidgeted, ignoring his double entendre completely. “You don’t think it’s a little... retro?”

“Hey, I remember when retro was hip, don’t knock it!”

He followed the design with a finger, ending up in the power-centre.

“Can I ask, what exactly _is_ that?”

Willow and Andrew shot each other a slightly guilty look. “A... mystical diamond.”

“Oh.” He'd known it had been too good to be true. A diamond would have been tricky, but doable. A mystical one on the other hand...

“It was one of a kind, right?”

They nodded, and he sighed, then caught Willow’s eyes. “That’s another thing - magic relies far too much on incredibly rare resources. I like stuff that can be fixed. Preferably with a screwdriver.”

Unless, of course, you got stuck in the wrong place or time without a sonic one, he thought sadly, as he contemplated his burnt-out wrist strap.

Then a thought struck him, and he turned to Andrew. 

“How did you get hold of it by the way? It’s not exactly something you can just borrow...”

Andrew’s face broke into a barely contained proud grin. “We stole it.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, and Andrew elaborated, swiftly getting carried away. “I had this really cool outfit - just like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, with wires and everything, and we shot the guard with our freeze ray...”

“Freeze ray?” Jack repeated, delighted. “Did you have a bat-cave too? Latex outfits with masks? A teleport?”

Andrew wilted somewhat and Jack turned back to the paper. Even if it would never work, he was curious as to how they’d pulled it off, years ahead of the official science work. The Beta Max of invisibility.

Carefully going through the numbers he stopped halfway through, authoritatively tapping the paper.

“Here’s your problem! Look - you’ve not taken into account the destabilising effect of altering the surface structure, which causes a basic molecular instability. Easy mistake. If you...” he grabbed a pencil and a new sheet of paper, swiftly jotting down calculations, trying to reach back to his Agency training. He’d always been better at practical stuff than theory...

Studying the result he pulled a face. “That ought to do it, but it’s not ideal. I’m not used to working with magic, obviously, it throws the fundamentals...”

Voice trailing off he realised that both Willow and Andrew were staring at him.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“You... you really are totally Einstein-y,” Willow said, looking from the paper, to him and back again, looking as if he’d suddenly sprouted wild hair and a mustache.

He shrugged, trying his best not to smirk. “What, did you think I ended up where I am today because of my looks?” Then he chuckled. “Actually the looks really helped-” but Willow cut in.

“Hey, this isn’t a joke.” She turned to Buffy, almost accusatory.

“You never said he was a genius!”

Buffy shrugged lightly, only the tiniest bit smug. “He’s The Immortal. Haven’t you heard? He’s good at _everything!”_

At this Jack couldn’t help but laugh as he met Buffy’s eyes - she was brilliant at this, and he could tell just how much she was relishing the game. Oh he’d _told_ her that it’d be fun to show him off.

Turning back to Willow he grabbed the blueprints and started rolling them up. “Would you mind if I kept these? I have a friend who’d love to see them.”

“Um... I suppose...” she answered, and Jack thanked her solemnly as Vittore spirited the papers away before she could think to object.

He’d been meaning to bring something back for his little team, and invisibility-gun plans would be just the thing for Tosh, even if faulty. It was doubtful that she’d be able to get the thing to work, but the fun was in the trying. And if she succeeded - well, it could certainly come in handy...

A while later, during dessert - in the middle of a heated discussion about cosmetic surgery (they were _all_ against it, this century was so _strange_) - his Torchwood phone rang, and he had to leave to deal with an emergency. Thankfully he’d insisted that UNIT have people on standby in Cardiff, so all he had to do was direct Suzie towards the necessary procedures and make sure things went OK. 

Still, he'd been absent for nearly half an hour by the time he returned to his guests, only to find that they’d all left the table and ventured out into the garden.

Watching the young people chat and laugh, lit up by strategically placed lights, Jack more felt than saw Giles walk up behind him until they were side by side, faintly reflected in the window.

“Is this the part where you ask me my intentions?” he asked lightly, and he could sense Giles’ slight irritation.

“Something like that,” was the cautious reply, and Jack smiled, not taking his eyes off Buffy.

“Well you’re seeing them right now.”

Giles shot him a look.

“Would you care to explain further?”

Jack shook his head. “Nothing to explain. I spoil her - she lets me. That’s it. In a little while our paths will diverge and that’ll be that.”

Giles’ skepticism was almost a physical thing between them. “You seem remarkably ready to let her go.”

Jack sighed, but figured that after his earlier... _misstep_, he probably owed it to Buffy to help put Giles’ mind at rest. 

“Mr Giles - I am under no illusions. I’m just... what do the kids call it these days? The rebound guy. Don’t get me wrong, Buffy is one of the most remarkable women I’ve ever met, but this-” he waved a hand, encompassing the house and all it symbolised, “-is just a holiday for me. Having someone to share it with is great, but that’s all it is. God knows neither of us needs another tragically impossible love story in our lives.”

Giles seemed taken aback, but after a moment fastened onto the only non-Buffy related part of his speech, eyes sharp and inquisitive behind his glasses. 

“You say this is a holiday. Away from what?” 

Jack sighed. He should have seen this coming... Didn’t these people know that curiosity killed the cat?

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff - saving the world and all that jazz. Now more than ever, really. The 21st Century is when everything chang-”

He stopped mid-sentence, the familiar words in one exquisite instant taking on a wholly new meaning.

Staring out into the garden where Buffy - with Kennedy’s help - was demonstrating some sort of fighting manoeuvre (the finer points of decapitation?), questions that had plagued him for more than a century suddenly found answers, puzzle pieces fitting together in a perfect whole. For a moment he was utterly speechless, then he turned to Giles.

“You win,” he stated, still reeling from his sudden insight.

“Excuse me?” Giles replied, looking somewhat disconcerted.

“You - or the slayers, rather - you win. There are no vampires in the future...”

Everything would change - but it had started with the slayers. A whole army, all across the world... yes, it was possible. More than that even - it was probable, logical.

The vampires - the half-breeds - had always been a problem for him, ever since he’d first encountered them. Demons could in time assimilate - and most of them already did so, out of sight of general knowledge. A few more centuries, and they’d be fully accepted, their origins - whatever they might be - lost in the brightness of space and the teeming masses of extra-terrestial life. 

But the vampires didn’t fit. There were plasmavores aplenty out there of course, but - as far as he knew - nothing like the living legends of today. And here it was - the reason that they were gone. 

He smiled, pleased, but Giles appeared genuinely troubled, the stand-offish disapproval momentarily vanished.

“You are sure of this? That the vampires will be eradicated?”

Jack nodded. “To the best of my knowledge, yes.”

But Giles wasn’t so easily deterred. “Is this a prophecy? None of my sources mentioned that you were a Seer...”

Cursing himself for having said too much, Jack still knew that this might have been unavoidable. The way time looped round, causes and consequences only ever glimpsed in part, it was entirely possible that he, here and now, was helping create the vampire-free future he knew. Slowly he shook his head.

“I’m not a Seer. That’s... that’s not how it works. I just... _know_ things. If you want my advice? You have an army of vampire Slayers - let them slay the vampires. Every last one.”

By the look on Giles’ face his words had apparently made an unforeseen impact, and he dearly hoped this would mean no more quizzing tonight. His mind was full enough as it was.

The vampires would all be dust... but so, too, would the slayers. 21st Century, everything changed - the slayers would change the world, and then die out, obsolete like magic. After all, what good was a stake against a sonic blaster? A sword against a particle gun? 

Then Buffy burst through the doors, glaring at the two of them with her best no-nonsense look and very effectively ended his introspection.

“OK, why are you hiding in here?”

He grinned, easily covering up. “We were about to retreat to the library, to drink brandy and discuss world affairs, while you ladies amuse yourselves with whatever it is that women talk about. Maybe you could do some embroidery?”

“_Still_ not funny! I think your sense of humour is broken,” she countered, taking his hand and dragging him out into the garden.

***

Life was good, Jack reflected.

His girlfriend was gorgeous, her friends were fabulous company, and her Watcher provided just the right amount of frisson to keep things interesting. They’d spend tomorrow traipsing around tourist hot-spots and then send them off Monday morning... what on earth had Buffy been so worried about?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course they can't escape the past entirely...

_Jack: You need to know something. A long time ago, I was pretty good at torture. You see, I had quite a reputation as the go-to guy. My job demanded it at the time, you see._

_‘In moments of great stress, every life form that exists gives out a tiny subliminal signal. This signal simply communicates an exact and almost pathetic sense of how far that being is from the place of his birth.’  
The Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy_

**Sunday 2nd of May. Early morning.**

Buffy woke up alone. It was one of those things about dating a guy who didn’t sleep... he tended to wander off during the night to look after his mysterious affairs. 

She didn’t really mind though, since she knew that he’d appear as soon as he realised that she was awake, but for now she was happy to have a few moments’ peace so she could try to sort through her thoughts.

Last night... well it had gone better than she’d imagined. Apart from that one horrible moment, but everyone done their best to pretend that nothing had happened, a skill they all excelled at.

Other than that he’d mostly showed off, in his own inimitable way, and (obviously) made quite the impression... There had been that half hour when he’d vanished and they’d all bombarded her with questions, few of which she’d been able to answer. 

And then there had been the moment in the garden, after she’d interrupted the Immortal-Giles powwow, when Giles had taken her aside and tried to determine The Immortal’s ‘motives’. Attempting to explain that really he had none hadn’t gone down very well - she could tell that Giles still didn’t trust The Immortal one tiny little bit, and he had seemed deeply sceptical when she told him that The Immortal had never once asked about the Slayers or anything relating to them. Never even been out patrolling with her or offered any help whatsoever.

She wasn’t sure what exactly Giles was trying to insinuate - and maybe Giles didn’t either. It was that ‘too good to be true’ factor raising its head again, and there was nothing she could do about that except pray that somehow things would work out.

Sighing she leaned back against the ornately carved headboard and wished for the weekend to be over already. 

At least everyone else seemed OK - even Xander, after The Immortal had demonstrated that he was perfectly capable of normal male bonding without any suggestiveness.

Then the door to the en-suite bathroom opened and The Immortal emerged, a towel draped over his shoulder and hair still glinting wet. Seeing that she was awake his face lit up.

“Now see _this_ is why people have relationships - so that there’s always someone in their bed in the morning, ready for fun.”

She couldn’t help smiling as he discarded the towel with a flourish, advancing on the bed with sparkling eyes. 

But as he sat down on the side of the bed, trying to kiss her, she pulled back.

“Is the door locked?”

He blinked. “I don’t think so. Why?”

Sometimes he was so clueless about basic human behaviour it felt like he’d fallen off a passing UFO. Or maybe he was so old that locks hadn’t been invented when he grew up... She shot him a look.

“Because all my friends are in this house...”

“So?” He crawled onto the bed, pure mischief and desire, but she shook her head sternly.

“So! They might come in at any moment!”

His reply was a smug smirk. “Well they might learn something.”

She’d known that he didn’t have a problem with nudity, but... looking at him she had a horrible feeling he wasn’t joking.

“I can’t even... you are _so_ weird.”

This time he laughed properly, showing off those perfect teeth. “Buffy - I’ve... heh. I’ve been to places where sex is a spectator sport.”

“A spectator sport?” she echoed, and he grinned, using her confusion to pull her skimpy nightie over her head, before leaning in, tilting his head to kiss her before she could protest.

“I won trophies,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her, and she closed her eyes and let herself fall into his embrace - her friends would probably knock first...

***

They were late for breakfast, of course.

As they walked through the doors Buffy saw that everyone else had clearly decided to start without them - or had been told to by Francesca - and turned to cast The Immortal her ‘What did I say?’ look. 

She was stopped by the look on his face, and his sudden, vice-like grip on her hand.

His eyes were fixed on the table, and when he spoke his voice was eerily calm. But his hand was still almost crushing hers.

“Why...” he slowly asked, “why are there petals all over my table?”

One by one they looked up, confused, and then Kennedy and Willow shot each other a look. Willow bit her lip, looking very uncomfortable.

“Um... Kennedy and I are kinda jet lagged and... um... thought it would be nice to... the garden looks so pretty in the early morning...” She faltered slightly, but The Immortal didn’t say anything, so she continued, her smile wobbly. 

“Your housekeeper said that it would be OK to pick some flowers, but then...” She hesitated. “There was... uh... an incident as we tried to put them into vases and the flowers went a little kablooey, and I was going to fix them but then I remembered that you asked me not to do magic, so we thought that the petals would make a nice decoration, even if they were now all over the table?”

He listened with great care to the explanation, not reacting to Willow’s not-so-subtle blushing with as much as a raised eyebrow. Slowly he nodded.

“OK, that’s... OK.” His grip relaxed, and he took a deep breath. “And... thank you for not using magic. It’s appreciated.”

As they made their way to their seats, Buffy got an avalanche of ‘What the hell was that?’ looks, and she could only shake her head in shared befuddlement. 

The Immortal helped himself to coffee and some pastries, until finally Xander decided that he’d had enough mystery, and decided to try to lighten the mood in his own way - Buffy had forgotten how much she missed that.

“So... what have you got against flower petals? Have a bad experience with some crazy flower-power hippies? Or was it Day of the Triffids?”

Andrew paled. “I couldn’t sleep for a _week_ after I saw that, it’s horrible. And I still think that maybe the flowers are watching us. Just... waiting for their moment.”

But The Immortal refused to take the bait. He ignored Andrew and caught Xander’s eyes, face and voice almost devoid of emotion. 

“I saw 15 men choked to death in front of my eyes.”

There was a few moment’s astonished silence, then Dawn spoke up.

“With... petals?”

He nodded. “With petals.”

“But... but how? Or _what_? Evil... flowers?”

She couldn’t help pulling a face at the line. There were some things that were just _too_ odd.

A sigh. “Fairies. Or, I should say, what people refer to as fairies.”

Buffy forgot all about her breakfast. She remembered this, only he’d not explained much at the time - they’d started talking about something else instead... 

Kennedy stared, open mouthed. 

“_Fairies_ are evil?”

Xander made a dismissive sound. “Typical. Santa Claus is evil, fairies are evil... bet you that leprechauns are too.”

The Immortal, for the first time, seemed to relax a little. “Come on, leprechauns aren’t real. But fairies...” He shook his head. “I really don’t know much. Just that they’re old - old and dangerous. One of those things left over from the dawn of time.” 

He seemed to inhale his coffee, then looked up, seemingly having regained his equilibrium. “I actually wondered if maybe you knew anything?”

He caught Giles’ eyes, and the Watcher hesitated. “I’m afraid that the information the Council held was only ever very scattered, and after the attacks by the First Evil...” He stopped momentarily. “We lost so much. Please, if you have any information that could be of use to us, I would be grateful.”

They began exchanging what knowledge they had, and Buffy watched, feeling more relieved than she could express. It would seem that Giles had been able to put the ‘event’ of the previous night behind him, figuratively speaking. 

A bit of sightseeing and they could send everyone home tomorrow, happy.

***

The rain was sudden, and very wet, and ruled out a lot of options. They were trying to work out what to do, Willow flicking through the guide book that she’d brought in search of ideas, when The Immortal caught their attention, clapping his hands together.

“I know. We can go down into the catacombs!”

As was his wont he immediately sprung into action, gleefully pulling strings and arranging things with a flick of his wrist and his too-charming smile. So when they arrived at the main entrance he’d become a Professor of Ancient History, and the rest of them his students, which meant that they got special provision to go down tunnels not on the normal tours.

“How does he do that?” Willow asked, as they watched him confidently flirt his way through security, and Buffy shrugged.

“Don’t know. But he says he used to be a conman...”

Willow yawned, and then shook her head. “That’s not very reassuring.”

Soon after wards they were all walking down ancient passage ways, clutching torches and peering through the darkness as their shadows skipped along the walls around them.

Despite the very definite ‘historical’ factor, walking around in dank underground tunnels full of dead people was not what Xander had had in mind when ‘sightseeing’ had been touted, and he said as much.

“Well _I_ think it’s homely!” The Immortal countered.

“Homely?” Xander echoed incredulous. “You can’t even brighten it with some curtains, what with the lack of windows.”

The Immortal shrugged. “Windows are overrated.”

“What? You grew up in a bunker?”

“Pyramid actually,” The Immortal replied, showing all his teeth in a winsome smile. “Spent my childhood building sandcastles shaped like polyhedrons.”

Buffy sighed, and caught Xander’s eyes. “Don’t... whenever anyone starts asking, he just turns into an X-rated version of the History Channel. Ten to one that he’ll bring up Cleopatra now.”

But instead of explaining what chat-up lines he used on Egyptian queens, The Immortal stopped, trying to decipher an old inscription on the wall. 

“You speak Latin,” Giles observed, and The Immortal did his familiar little shrug.

“Bit tricky getting by in Pompeii otherwise.”

“Pompeii?” Willow asked, and he sighed, sounding wistful.

“Sitting in the shade of Vesuvius, with a pretty boy in one arm and an amphora in the other... Oh, those were the days.” 

“_Do_ tell!” Dawn cut in, gleefully. 

“Actually-” The Immortal added, a smile in his voice, “two amphora. There was this stall holder - fantastic guy - who did two amphora for the price of one. Could have sold sand in the desert that one. Now what _was_ his name...”

As he continued to think out loud, Kennedy snorted.

“OK, that’s it. I think he just makes everything up.”

His laughter floated over his shoulder, clear and bright, and Buffy smiled fondly. This was what she had been hoping for - that her friends would come to that half-exasperated acceptance of the way he just didn’t follow any known rules. 

Then Willow called out.

“Wait! There’s... there’s something here.”

The Immortal stopped and doubled back, curiously letting the light from his torch trail over the bit of nondescript wall Willow was pointing to. Noting the look on his face, she waved her hand impatiently.

“It’s- it’s some sort of concealing spell... Someone’s hidden something here. It shouldn’t take long to lift.”

She raised her hand and then stopped, uncertain.

“Um. If you don’t mind?”

The Immortal shook his head. 

“Not at all. Please go ahead.”

Noticing the looks he was getting, he shrugged, unconcerned.

“The right tool for the right job. And I think this very nicely illustrates how untrustworthy magic is. Even a simple padlock would have been better - and far less likely to draw attention.”

Willow shot him a dirty look before wrinkling her brow in concentration, and after a few moments the wall suddenly seemed to melt away, revealing yet another black opening.

Buffy turned to find The Immortal grinning excitedly as he shone his torch into the new tunnel, and - apparently without thinking - drawing his gun.

“C’mon! Hide and seek this way,” he said, almost bouncing as he stalked off into the darkness. 

Buffy hesitated for just a moment. Not because she was unsure about following, but because seeing him like this was new... and yet she could tell that this was something as natural as breathing to him. Apparently he hadn’t been kidding when saying how comfortable he felt down here. Or maybe it was just the situation? She really ought to get him to come out on patrol with her at some point...

After a little while, The Immortal and Willow leading the way, two torches abruptly swung sideways, illuminating an alcove in the wall.

Leaning in closer for a better look, Buffy pulled back sharply.

The occupant hadn’t been dead long, and someone had been carving odd symbols into the parts of the face and body that were visible. The creature had also at some point probably had a horn, if the ugly circular wound on its forehead was anything to go by. There was a strong smell of weird spices that called to mind the Magic Box, and Buffy offered silent gratitude for magical rituals that involved sage. The stench of rotting demon was not one she relished.

The Immortal however, despite wrinkling his nose, peered down at the body curiously, before holstering his gun and turning back to the rest of the group who had now caught up.

“I guess this is ‘Welcome to CSI: Rome?” he said brightly. “Now if no one minds, I’m going to be Grissom - you’ll have to imagine the beard, since I can’t grow one - and...” his eyes trailed over them, “-Dawn! Do you want to be Catherine?”

“Sure!” she replied, and he turned to Giles. 

“So, Guest Star with Specialist Knowledge. Mind to tell me what species this is?”

Adjusting his glasses, Giles leaned forward. “It would appear to be a Kungai demon... Andrew?”

He glanced at Andrew, and Andrew quickly cleared his throat and tried to impersonate a talking library. 

“Um... Kungai demons are a powerful and deadly Asian race of demons. They have a horn called a Tak horn on their head which possesses magical properties and it is tied directly to the Kungai's life force. If it is removed the Kungai will die.”

The Immortal mused on this. “So the removal of the horn was probably the cause of death? OK. What does this horn do - is it like a unicorn horn?”

“It drains the life force out of whoever is stabbed with it.”

“Ah. Sounds nasty. But... it doesn’t really explain why our vic is down here, all hidden.”

Beginning to unwrap the demon, he kept up the chatter.

“Now Mr Kungai, I’m guessing you won’t conveniently be carrying your wallet in your back pocket, and if you have dental records I’ll eat my hat - so it’s lucky that I’m pretty good at getting dead bodies to talk!”

Dawn leaned forward, her face as curious and unfazed as The Immortal’s, and he shot her a small smile. Buffy remembered this from their homework sessions - The Immortal’s squick level was clearly as non-existent as Dawn’s. Giles and Willow hovered too, looking a bit offended that The Immortal had just swooped in, but too polite to say anything.

“Have you ever thought of studying forensics by the way?” The Immortal asked, and Dawn shook her head.

“You should. Think about it, I mean. There’s better careers than watcher!”

Grinning he turned back to the demon, blithely ignoring the frown on Giles’ face. But after a short while Buffy saw his face turn grim. Slowly he looked up.

“He was tortured,” he said, and Kennedy pulled a ‘duh’ face.

“Well what a surprise,” she said drolly, tapping her stake against her leg, already bored.

The Immortal shot her a withering glance. 

“No. These-” he waved a hand towards the symbols, “-were all inflicted _after_ death. Probably part of the concealing spell or... something. Not my area of expertise. But before he died he was tortured - carefully and systematically and for a long time by someone who knew _exactly_ what they were doing.”

He cast a glance at Dawn, then began pointing out specific places as Buffy did her best to ignore the spectacle. Problem being that anywhere else she pointed her torch she could swear that she saw creepy-crawlies scuttling for cover...

“Look - see this here? And here. And that nerve centre has been accessed here...” He whistled quietly, and caught Dawn’s eyes. 

“Oh whoever did this was brilliant. Torture is... it’s a craft, a _skill_, like any other. Knowing how to create the maximum amount of pain, for as long as possible - without making the subject pass out, because that amounts to rest, and you can’t have that - is something that takes time to learn and even longer to perfect. But... with time also comes individual styles... You might be able to find out who just by looking at this MO. Let me take some photos.”

As he pulled out his cell and began directing Dawn as to how to hold her torch so he got the optimum amount of light, it felt like there had been a sudden drop in temperature, as they shifted uncomfortably. Buffy shone her torch on her shoes, and thought to herself that they needed polishing.

Giles was the first to speak up.

“You seem to know a lot about the subject,” he observed drily, but The Immortal didn’t flinch, as he slipped the phone back in his pocket.

“Yes I do,” he answered, in that clipped tone that Buffy knew meant _‘No trespassers beyond this point’_, before turning to her, all business.

“Now the question is - was he tortured for information, or for revenge. Or...” his eyes narrowed, and his voice became, if possible, even more devoid of feeling, “was this all done for someone else’s benefit?”

“What do you mean?” Buffy asked, trying to keep her tone neutral. 

He looked at her, face mostly in shadow. “Maybe they used him to get to someone else. Say... I wanted something from you, but I know that you’re pretty tough. So I might use Dawn as... leverage.”

She swallowed involuntarily, suddenly remembering all too clearly what could happen.

Turning his eyes back on the demon, he picked up its hand, slowly turning it over as he spoke.

“It’s... possible... this was done just for the hell of it, for the sake of inflicting pain, but... it’s unlikely. I can’t see why it’d be so well hidden then.” Looking up he caught her eyes again. 

“If you want me to go talk to his family once you find out who he is - presuming he’s local - I’ll be more than happy to by the way. They might freak out a little if a Slayer turns up on their doorstep...”

There was an odd pause, then Xander spoke, obviously trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Talk to his family?”

The Immortal shot him a searching look.

“You never inform victims’ families about what happened to them?”

Kennedy coughed. “Sorry but... we’re talking about a demon, right?”

The Immortal looked like he’d been slapped.

“Demons are people too!”

“Um - no? They’re _demons_. That’s what makes them different from people.”

The Immortal’s features hardened, and when he spoke his voice was coldly furious.

“You’ll want to be _a lot_ more careful about the words you use - _Slayer_.”

Somewhere, in the pit of her stomach, Buffy could feel pure dread spreading. She could almost _see_ the sudden gulf between them in the sudden, sharp silence, and yet couldn’t think of a thing to say. And The Immortal’s face was so closed that he looked like a stranger.

***

_As so often before, Jack could feel a familiar sense of claustrophobia threaten to overwhelm him. Times like these he wondered if Douglas Adams had been right, because he could feel the immense distance of time and space too keenly for words; the need to get back home an almost physical ache... _

_This world was too small, too narrow - so entirely not where he belonged. He wanted to be in a place where ‘Ladies, gentlemen and variations thereupon’ was the standard greeting; a place where sex was simple and straightforward and not bound up in a thousand ever-changing rules; a place where Empires were measured in galaxies..._

_He let his eyes pass over the others and sighed inwardly. It wasn’t their fault that he was stuck in the wrong time. Or that they’d trampled right through the issues he came here to hide from._

_And Buffy looked like she was about to have kittens. Bother. They needed to get out before someone said something stupid..._

***

“Well this is certainly proving to be an enlightening outing.”

Despite the fact that Giles’ voice was perfectly polite, The Immortal’s head abruptly whipped round. There was another silence that seemed impossible to break, as The Immortal silently studied Giles - but then dragged his hand across his face, betraying deep weariness.

“Is this about Baxter.”

“I think it would be fair to say that there are a great deal of questions in regards to his disappearance that are still unanswered.”

“Trust me, Mister Giles, you need to curb your curiosity. If _he_ is why you came, your trip was wasted.”

“Um... what are we talking about?” Willow cut in, and The Immortal shifted his attention.

“Roger Fitzwilliam Baxter, a rogue demon hunter. Very brave, very dashing - but unfortunately also a xenophobic jerk who was of the opinion that the only good demon was a dead demon.”

“I did some research,” Giles continued, unperturbed. “His whole family was murdered in front of his eyes by a pack of Prekian demons when he was only a child.”

The Immortal snorted derisively. “Well cry me a river.”

The dread having turned to full-blown horror, Buffy began to wish that a large vampire army would attack, just to stop the conversation. She’d not seen this side of him often, but The Immortal had the cold, superior bastard act down to a fine art. At least her friends would hopefully see that he really was very, very different from Spike or Angel. But it was a pitiful straw to cling to...

“So,” Kennedy said, crossing her arms and looking ready for a fight. “We should all sit around feeling sorry for this fugly dead demon over there on the shelf, but this Baxter guy deserves no sympathy?”

The Immortal shook his head. “Fine - let’s say our Mr Kungai here was killed by a human in front of his family. Would that entitle _his_ children to go out and kill every human they came across?”

“Well that’s-” Xander said, but The Immortal cut him off.

“You don’t want to finish that sentence, trust me.”

“OK!” Buffy said loudly, waving her torch around, trying to get everyone’s attention. “I think we better head back now, right?”

Even in the dim light she could see the vivid agreement on her friends’ faces - they all remembered far too many arguments and painful moments in sewers and other unpleasant underground locations.

But Giles, looking impatient, ignored her completely and brought the conversation back where he wanted it.

“You have still shed no light on Baxter’s fate.”

Buffy looked from one to the other and sighed. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. If one of them didn’t back down soon, she’d have to knock them out and _carry_ them home. Oh joy. 

And The Immortal looked genuinely pissed off now.

“What’s it to you? He hurt someone I cared about, someone completely innocent and harmless - on _purpose_. Apart from which he was a danger to society, so I got rid of him. Come on - the man’s dead, let him rest in peace.”

He stopped, then tilted his head, musing.

“Well I _presume_ he’s dead... he’d be over a hundred if he’s still alive. Which isn’t impossible - he was a fit guy - but not very likely to be honest.”

Buffy stared, taken aback. 

“But - I thought you-”

She didn’t know how to finish the sentence. She’d accused him of killing Baxter, and he’d not denied it. Why not, if he hadn’t?

The Immortal smiled faintly.

“I said ‘fate _worse_ than death’. I also said I didn’t murder him.”

Buffy was still trying to work out a response when Dawn spoke up.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Dawn?” she asked, as she sensed everyone’s focus shift.

But her little sister just shrugged. “You left Giles’ letter lying on the table.”

“That was private!” Buffy replied, and Dawn tilted her head with something like pity in her eyes.

“Why do you think I read it? Anyway, I think Baxter sounded just like that General of the Knights of Byzantium that you captured when we ran away from Glory. Remember the way he looked at me? How I was just a ‘thing’? ‘_The key is the link. The link must be severed. Such is the will of god.’_ I’ll bet you anything Baxter was just the same.”

“Dawn...” Buffy said again, helplessly. She’d had no idea that her sister was still dwelling on that time. Why hadn’t she said something?

Dawn did her patented eyeroll, with added sigh.

“Hey, I’m _fine_. Seriously, don’t start freaking out. I just think that Baxter got what was coming to him.”

The others looked rather taken aback, Buffy noticed, as her eyes went from face to face. Until she got to The Immortal, who was studying Dawn with an odd focus that she didn’t know what to make of. But before she could say or do anything, Giles spoke again.

“I appreciate your point Dawn, however I’m afraid that I am far from comfortable with someone with undisclosed powers and unknown ethics acting as vigilante.”

The Immortal’s jaw dropped, then his eyes turned to steel, and, judging by the way the light from his torch suddenly danced across the wall, he gripped it harder.

“_Listen_. You don’t know who I am, and you don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about, so back the _hell_ off!”

But Giles stood his ground.

“So tell me Immortal - who are you?”

There was a long pause, as everyone seemed to collectively hold their breaths, waiting.

Then The Immortal raised his chin, arms crossed over his chest. Buffy wondered what the answer would be - if any. 

“I’m a soldier.”

This obviously wasn’t what anyone had been expecting.

“Uh... What kind of soldier?” Xander asked, curious.

“The kind that fights in wars,” The Immortal replied curtly, once more drawing his gun, holding it up in the dim light.

“I didn’t win this in a church raffle, and I don’t carry it for fun. I have killed more people with it than I can count, most of whom probably deserved it far less than Baxter. But as I’m sure you know, saving the world is dirty and bloody work, no matter where you are.”

“You fought in, like, World War I?” Andrew asked, wide-eyed, and The Immortal took a deep breath, put the gun away, and smiled.

“That I did. And if you’d been born a century earlier, so would you have done. Hey - I might even have been your commanding officer in the trenches.”

He slapped a stunned-looking Andrew on the shoulder.

“Commanding Officer?” Andrew breathed, and The Immortal smirked, letting his eyes trail over him.

“Oh Andrew. I can just imagine it - you in an ill-fitting uniform, complaining about your blisters and the rat that stole your bread. And then you’d have been blown to pieces and I’d have to write to your parents. Trust me, you’re better off fighting demons - far less deadly than humans-”

Abruptly his head snapped around, and he pointed towards Willow, who was quietly standing in the background - so still that Buffy had almost forgotten that she was there.

“_You_ \- get out of my head!”

Willow’s eyes grew to the size of saucers and took on that guilty look that Buffy knew all too well.

“I- I... I didn’t-” she stammered, and The Immortal shook his head. 

“Sweetheart I can _feel_ you. And hey, I can see the logic - have a little snoop around, check that I’m a bona fide Good Guy and all the arguments go away. Find anything of interest?”

“No - nothing.” She shook her head vehemently. “Really - I couldn’t get through at all.”

He pursed his lips, looking speculative. “Well that’s nice to know.”

Then he stepped back over to the Kungai, pulling the wrap up to cover its face and letting his hand rest on its chest for a moment.

“Well there’s a Slayer on your case now, so someone will pay for what they did. Unless of course you’re the bad guy in all of this - in which case I can go buy someone a drink for services to society.”

Buffy felt like protesting that she didn’t particular feel like playing detective, but realised that it’d make sense to save that fight until they’d gotten out. Although... whoever had done this might need taking out - if someone was killing demons, they’d probably start on humans soon.

“Does that mean we are actually going?” she asked, and set off back the way they’d come before anyone could start arguing again. Soon The Immortal took up the navigation again, and Andrew - trying to change the subject, or maybe just being his geeky self - began asking questions about the accuracy of ‘Blackadder Goes Forth’. Really, out of all of them, he’d been the least affected. Which was odd, now Buffy came to think of it, but not the thing she wanted to focus on right now.

Instead she hung back to have a chat with Willow, who still looked somewhat shell-shocked.

“Willow - what were you _thinking_?” she asked in as quiet a whisper as she could, even as her mind was busy trying to work things out... Was something like this at the root of The Immortal’s intense dislike of magic?

But Willow didn’t start the awkward defence Buffy had been half-expecting, nor offered an apology. Her eyes drifted forward to where The Immortal’s outline could be clearly seen against the old walls and she seemed to not quite know what to say.

“Look, Buffy...”

She sighed. “What?”

“I don’t know. It’s just... I know I shouldn’t have tried to read his mind but... what I saw... he’s not like anything else I’ve ever come across.”

“You mean he’s not human.” Well she’d been expecting that.

Willow hesitated. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to sound all doom-y, but... I got nothing. Nothing at all. It’s like he was...” she ran a hand through her hair. “It’s like he was _dead_. I’m sorry - I don’t want to worry you, but... I don’t want you to get hurt. Again.”

Before Buffy could work out a reply, Dawn called her name, and she excused herself, leaving Willow to grasp Kennedy’s hand and mutter something about now being very sleepy thanks to the jet lag.

Why had she thought that having her friends around would somehow make The Immortal easier to explain? It had been a bad idea, from start to finish. 

All she wanted to do was to curl up with him somewhere private with a large ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door - but that was sadly not an option.

***

They returned to a sumptuous lunch, but as they sat down Buffy finally couldn’t take The Immortal’s unconcerned chatter anymore, and dragged him out into the hallway.

“OK. What’s your deal? Are you completely unable to behave normally, or do you suffer from occasional short-term memory loss?”

He frowned, clearly unsure what she was getting at. “What do you mean?”

“You had this big argument - like only half an hour ago - and now you’re all ‘Tra-la-la everything’s fine’!”

He tilted his head. “Well isn’t it?”

She stared. “How is it ‘fine’? Please explain, because clearly those words mean something different to you than they do to me.”

He shrugged, that oddly closed look on his face again.

“For a start there were no death threats. Trust me - I’ve been killed more than once for being too... openminded. I know I don’t fit here, that I see the world with different eyes to you. But I can’t do anything about that. If I could go back...”

For just a second there was such deep longing in his eyes that she felt almost hollow. But then his smile re-appeared like magic, and he shook his head.

“But I can’t. What I _can_ do is try to be a good host. So come on, let’s get back to your friends. Everything. Is. Fine.”

She followed, with yet more questions in her mind and more confused than ever.

***

**Monday 3rd of May. Morning.**

Standing in the enormous hall once more, surrounded by luggage, Buffy still couldn’t make up her mind whether the visit had been a success or not. There had been no further arguments or drama - Giles had insisted on another private talk with The Immortal, but it had obviously not done much to calm his mind. Buffy sincerely hoped that he’d decided to give up, something that looked increasingly likely.

Waiting for the sound of a taxi coming up the drive, Andrew tried to lighten the slightly strained atmosphere.

“You know, I saw this new internet meme the other day, where you had to answer questions to see what Star Wars character you were most like!”

The Immortal raised an eyebrow. “Why would anyone need questions?”

“Fine then - who would you be?” Dawn asked, and he grinned widely. 

“I’m Han Solo, isn’t it obvious? I’m better looking of course, but I _do_ have a tendency to shoot first, and these days I’ve even got my own Princess.”

He winked at Buffy, who dearly wished that he’d stop encouraging Andrew’s geekiness - but then he got that look on his face that she’d learned to dread.

“Of course I’d have Lando and Chewie too in a heartbeat.”

“What do you mean ‘have’?” Kennedy asked, and he smirked.

“Well what do you _think_?”

Seeing the looks on their faces he chuckled. “Fur is a wonderful thing!”

And then Buffy’s silent prayers were answered when his cellphone began ringing.

Glancing at the screen he pulled a face and then disappeared into one of the antechambers with the phone already glued to his ear, promising to ‘only be a minute’.

On the downside this left her alone with her friends for the first time since the catacombs, a situation she’d hoped to avoid altogether.

Looking in the direction The Immortal had disappeared in, Xander lifted an eyebrow.

“Well... I think I can safely say that your new boyfriend isn’t what we expected.”

The familiar, reassuring smile was a balm against the words, and Buffy tried smiling back... except somehow it got stuck. It wasn’t that Xander’s tacit acceptance wasn’t very welcome... it was the fact that he was accepting something other than what she knew to be the truth. 

And she realised that she couldn’t let them go like this. Maybe it was because of never trying to put into words what Spike had been to her, leaving everyone to see what they saw fit. And then it had been too late.

So she suddenly needed to make sure they didn’t misunderstand where she was at now, and caught Xander’s eyes.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

She paused briefly, saw the surprise on her friends’ faces as she fought against internal panic. 

“He’s my lover.”

The whole smiling thing still didn’t quite work, and she could feel her heart beating much too fast. She felt oddly naked, admitting to wanting something for herself just because it felt good, but if she’d learned anything from The Immortal it was not to be ashamed of enjoying life when it gave her something good. 

Then a door slammed and the man in question returned, an easy smile on his face as he looked around, before his eyes narrowed.

“What just happened?”

Grasping his hand as the lifeline it was, Buffy finally managed to smile back.

“Nothing. We were just listening out for the taxi!”

Which then pulled up outside (two miracles in two minutes, what were the chances?) and the familiar goodbye rituals overrode the awkwardness.

It would hopefully be quite a while before she saw any of them again, by which time this fling would already be in the past... She hugged them all tightly, ignored the questions in their eyes and then waved as the taxi drove off, feeling more relieved than she could begin to explain.

“So what happened?” he asked again, his arm wrapped around her middle, and curiosity on his face. Dawn was the one to answer, glancing up from texting a message to Marco.

“Buffy just pointed out the obvious. No big.”

“It was exactly what you say in chapter-” Andrew piped up, but didn’t get any further as Buffy kicked him soundly, and he had to fight to hold back tears.

“You know, you really deserve each other!” he said, glaring, and limped out the door with his head held high. “I have Slayers to train!”

“You are cute when you pout!” The Immortal called after him, and Buffy collapsed in giggles, hoping that she wouldn’t pass out from the sudden light-headedness and relief.

Everything was alright again.

***

**Evening.**

She might wake up alone, but she always fell asleep with him there, her head resting on his warm, broad chest, the beat of his heart slow and steady and reassuring. (He was so _alive_. Willow was just wrong, and that was that.) 

Moonlight fell through the window, and she was right back in her fairy tale - any minute now the furniture would come to life and start a dance routine...

“I wiped his memories,” The Immortal said, and she startled.

“Huh?” she asked, trying to cut through the dreamy lethargy that lay on her like a blanket.

“Baxter. I wiped his memories.”

Suddenly wide awake she sat up, pulling her hair off her face and trying to process what he said.

“His... his memories? How much?”

He wasn’t looking at her, apparently addressing the stripe of moonlight that traversed the bed. 

“Everything. His whole life. Got him a new name and fake papers, then put him on a boat to South America, still unconscious. Left him in the care of a circus, and told everyone a different story about his background so he’d have plenty to choose from. I suppose I ought to have checked up on him, but I just never got round to it...”

She shook her head, not knowing what to say. 

“Why are you telling me this now?”

Finally he turned to look at her, puzzled. “I don’t know, to be honest. Guess I’m just tired of secrets and lies.”

“Okay...” she said, faintly. She wasn’t sure what he expected now, if anything, and his face didn’t give much away. 

“So,” he said, after a pause. “In your opinion, did I kill him or not?”

“I... I don’t know,” she answered, slowly beginning to come to grips with the revelation, and finally understanding the ‘fate worse than death’ description.

Except...

She could clearly remember the feeling of not knowing who she was - of trying to stitch together an identity from the few scraps she could find, wondering what had happened and who she was. It had been scary, but also freeing beyond belief. 

Maybe it had been the same for Baxter? 

“How did you... I mean, what gave you the idea?”

He did that odd little huff that wasn’t quite a chuckle. “Her name was Margaret...”

“Margaret?”

There was a sudden panicked look in his eyes, and his careless laughter sounded anything but. 

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter. Forget it. Really it’s not important.”

“If you say so...” she said, suddenly not feeling curious anymore. There were too many dark things in his past, too many questions whose answers she knew she wouldn’t like. 

Giles wasn’t wrong, she thought - The Immortal had too much power, and his motives were too obscure for her to be comfortable with him.

On the other hand...

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, breaking her train of thought. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a costume party? We could go as Caesar and Cleopatra - I look _great_ in a toga and you almost have Cleo’s nose!”

On the other hand, she wouldn’t want to miss out on this for all the world.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a happy one.

_Jack: And you should have seen me in my platforms and five-inch lapels. Woo-hoo! [...] You should try it! A little 70s role-play?  
Ianto: Please, God no.  
Jack: Stella Courtney liked to role-play._

**Friday 7th of May, evening.**

“So... what are we going to do tonight?”

At her question The Immortal looked up at her from where he was sprawled on the large leather sofa, before pulling a hand through his hair, having apparently finally run out of ideas.

“Dunno. I’ve been kinda busy these last few days planning our big ball... Hoped maybe there was something you’d want to try? Something new?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like...” his eyes narrowed as he went through some sort of mental list, before suddenly freezing. Then a wide grin broke out on his face, and... he began singing.

“Girl-”

“No!” she cut in, but he was undeterred.

“I wanna take you to a gay bar, gay bar!”

“Stop!” she tried again, and he obeyed, beaming. She frowned sternly.

“We are _not_ going to a gay bar!”

Wide-eyed and hopeful he looked up at her. “Why not? Have you ever been?”

“No... But...” 

Any hope she’d had of talking him of out this latest idea crumbled as she saw his eyes suddenly light up as if someone had lit a whole bunch of fireworks.

“I could go in drag!”

Laughing he jumped up off the sofa, and took her hand. “To the wardrobe, away! So - do you want to be your gorgeous self or an out-and-out dyke?”

“I’m not sure you should use that word...” she said feebly, as she let him drag her out the door and up the stairs. 

And yet his enthusiasm was so infectious that she was soon caught up in a happy game of dressing-up, diving into chests and under rails, now and again stopping to watch him prance around wearing nothing but a large green hat or a multicoloured feather boa.

Finally he settled on a short, bright pink dress, red stilettos (“I wish I could wear shoes like this more often - I never get to show off my ankles”), and a large amount of jewellery.

Buffy decided on a Small Black Dress which fitted like a glove, and, catching his eyes, held up a beautiful red cape. But he shook his head determinedly as he plucked it from her hand.

“No. Never wear black with colour. It makes the colour look cheap and the black look boring.”

“O...K...” she said, a little unsure, and he winked. 

“Trust me - I have that advice from two fashion _experts_! Lovely, lovely ladies, really knew their stuff. Then they tried to cut off my head so I blew them up. Ah... Good times. Anyway, the Breakfast at Tiffay’s look is perfect.”

She stared silently. Sometimes...

Then he started looking through boxes again, and after some intense searching triumphantly held up a big platinum wig.

Studying himself critically in the mirror he tried it on, obviously not all that taken.

“Well. With it I’m Lily Savage, without it I’m Eddie Izzard. What do you think?”

She shook her head. “Who?”

He turned to her, eyes wide with surprise. “You don’t know Eddie Izzard? That’s... that’s terrible. We must do something about that. But not now.”

Glancing back into the mirror, he tilted his head. “I suppose the wig better stay, it does finish off the look rather nicely. Although maybe with a darker lipstick...”

Carefully he retouched his makeup, and Buffy watched, fascinated - if she hadn’t know better, she’d have thought him a former model.

Finally however they were ready to go, and she couldn’t help shaking her head... if anything gayer had ever hit the town she wasn’t sure what it could be.

***

It wasn’t until the moment she realised that it was karaoke night that Buffy began to have misgivings. The Immortal just grinned (oh he’d _known_, the bastard) and took another sip of his fruity cocktail, continuing his industrial-strength flirting with anything that met his eyes.

Visions of an entire evening spent listening to endless renditions of ‘Respect’ and YMCA loomed in her head, and she came close to pretending that she’d seen a vampire before she pulled herself together. Considering her best friend was gay, she wasn’t doing a very good job of trying to look beyond stereotyping. 

Half an hour later (some of the singers had been _good_ and only one Dolly Parton song so far), The Immortal stood up, that secretive smile in his eyes that meant he had Thought of Something.

“OK, what are you going to sing?” she asked, and he smirked.

“Have you ever seen La Cage Aux Folles?”

She shook her head, and he looked musing. “I’ll explain later. For now, just enjoy!”

As he took to the stage a little later she was a bit sorry that their table was so far back, but on the other hand she had the pleasure of admiring him on a daily basis - she was sure he wouldn’t mind giving her a private performance later on.

And he certainly was a consummate performer. He stood perfectly still for a moment, surveying the room until he was sure that he had everyone’s undivided attention. Then, as the music (fanfare, really) started, he dramatically ripped off the wig and tossed it aside, lifted his chin - and _sang._

“I. Am. What I am. I am my own, _special_, creation...”

Watching him Buffy wondered if someone had written the song specifically for him... The line _‘I bang my own drum - some think it's noise, I think it's pretty’_, was so spot-on that she almost laughed out loud. 

He was so very much his own, special, thing; so completely unique... He ought to look ridiculous in the outfit he was wearing, but because he refused to be thought ridiculous, he wasn’t. Although he certainly looked... odd. Despite the dress, the make-up and the shoes, he was still overpoweringly _masculine_. She knew that the audience probably saw him as one of their own, but - despite all the never-ending flirting - she couldn’t make him fit into the box marked ‘gay’.

Then, while his eyes swept over the crowd, he suddenly stopped, almost missing the next line. Catching himself he managed to continue, but suddenly he was smiling widely at something she couldn’t see.

Frowning she stood up on her chair, scanning the adoring faces but wasn’t able to work out who could be there. Maybe an old friend?

Half a minute later the song was over, and The Immortal immediately swung himself down off the stage and made a beeline through the wildly applauding crowd, ending up talking to a young man whose face seemed vaguely familiar. 

It wasn’t until The Immortal had put his hand across his shoulder, steering him towards the door that led to the bathrooms, that Buffy suddenly realised where she’d seen him before... it was the soldier who had shown them the ropes when he’d taken her out flying. Er... something. Ermanno? He looked different out of uniform, that’s what had thrown her. But why was The Immortal... doing _what_ exactly with him?

She waited for a little while, but when they didn’t reappear she grabbed her purse and made her way to the door too, curious. Stepping through to the corridor on the other side she instinctively made sure to keep silent, tiptoeing along until she turned a corner. And froze.

They were only a few feet away, The Immortal pressed up against the opposite wall by Ermanno who had clearly overcome his shyness... and they were kissing passionately. One of The Immortal’s hands was wrapped around the soldier’s middle, the other cradling the back of his head, tilting it _just_ so.

For the longest moment she couldn’t even breathe, the only thought in her mind that apparently he _would_ cheat on her right in front of her nose...

Then The Immortal’s eyes slowly opened, and in a dazed double-take took in her presence.

She couldn’t help but remembering Riley, throwing aside his vampire whore in panic; Spike’s shame, unable to look at either her or Anya, and - heart beating - waited for the inevitable implosion.

And then... he winked.

Mouth falling open she stared with utter incredulity as he with great deliberation closed his eyes again and pulled the boy closer.

After gaping in mute incomprehension for a full three seconds she turned and fled, not stopping until she was outside, gulping down the cool night air. 

She wanted nothing except to _leave_, to go home, but she was miles and miles away, and she’d not brought any money for a taxi because... well, because he always took her home, and he always paid for everything. And it had been so charmingly old-fashioned that she’d never stopped to think how very dependent it made her...

Telling herself that crying would be stupid she made her way to the car, sitting down on the bonnet and wondering what was wrong with her for always picking _impossible_ men.

When he turned up some time later - probably no more than a few minutes, although it felt a lot more - he thankfully looked suitably subdued, despite the garish outfit.

“Buffy?” he asked softly, and she looked at him, trying to work out what to say.

“What... what _was_ that?” she finally asked, and he took a deep breath, eyes leaving hers.

“Walking away.”

_“What?”_ she exploded, pain turning into fury in an instant. “I know we talked about the whole ‘clearly words have a different meaning to you’ before, but walking away implies... walking _away_. Opposite direction kinda thing. Not walking straight _into_ someone’s arms and sticking your tongue down their throat!”

He looked at her, clearly confused and upset at her anger.

“It was only a kiss...”

“Oh no, mister. _That_ was one step away from ‘Hey let’s not bother with a room’.”

“And then I _walked away_!”

She stared for a few moments, speechless. “So... you want credit for _not sleeping with him_?”

“My God Buffy, have you _seen_ him? The chances of meeting him again are literally _zero_ and...” he shook his head, “... he’s a _pilot_! You have no _idea_ how long it’s been since I had a pilot in my bed, they’re... they’re a breed apart, trust me! But - I just can’t see a way of making it work without screwing up my cover.”

And there was that hurt look again. Not that she cared because she felt like she’d just been stabbed in the back. 

“So that’s it? If it hadn’t been so _inconvenient_ for your precious double life it’d have been ‘Goodbye Buffy, hello Soldier’?” The bitterness in her voice was biting, but she’d thought...

To her immense surprise he started chuckling, studying her like she was 5 years old.

“Why on _earth_ do you think it’d be a case of either-or?”

She blinked. “You don’t mean....”

He quirked an eyebrow, and she shook her head, incredulous. “Also he’s gay!”

The Immortal rolled his eyes. “Just labels. As I keep saying, you people are far too narrow-minded. It’d have been the _perfect_ opportunity to show you how much fun a threesome can be.”

“Right...” she studied him, disbelieving and still pissed off. “So I should be upset about missing out on a threesome, not hurt because you went and macked on some cute guy who made you horny.”

“It was just a kiss!” he exclaimed again, frustrated. “It was a _nice_ thing. I’ve told you enough about my past for you to know that I’ve done some pretty horrible things - and trust me, you can’t imagine the half of it - but _that_ I get a free pass on. Instead the one thing you start bitching about is a _kiss_.”

Slowly she shook her head. “What has your past got to do with _anything_? I can’t believe you don’t get it. You’re... you’re like from another _planet_!”

Something dark suddenly flickered in his eyes, and she sighed.

“OK, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s just... even _vampires_ understand basic fidelity.”

He was silent for a long moment, then spoke, looking apologetic - even vulnerable. “Listen... I never meant to upset you. I thought... I just figured you’d think it was hot... Like a free show?”

And just like that she was laughing, fighting for breath as his arms swiftly closed around her to stop her falling off the car’s bonnet. 

Looking up at him once she recovered, she shook her head, taking in the overly made-up face and the shiny pink fabric her hands were resting on.

“You sure you’re not an alien? Cause I swear it’s like you learned human by correspondence course. And if you have tentacles hidden away - like... like those aliens in Galaxy Quest - I want to know before they suddenly show up in my bed.”

“Tentacles,” he replied solemnly, “are always good. Really, you should-”

“Do _not_ tell me that you are planning a threesome with a squid!”

He opened his mouth, but she put a finger across his lips.

“Also, you’re not allowed to go around putting those lips _anywhere_ other than me until we’re over, understood?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he said, stepping back and saluting, and she cracked up again, because he really did look ridiculous.

Shaking her head for what seemed like the millionth time that night she asked him to take her home. If he’d been anyone else she’d have taken some kind of drastic measure, but she knew that their time was running out - the big costume party was a not-too-subtle farewell gesture.

“You know,” he said, when they were in the car, driving back. “I _did_ need to talk to him - make sure he hadn’t been following me on purpose...”

“I. Don’t. Care,” she cut him off. “Trust me, you want to quit while you’re ahead. Not that you are. I expect grovelling.”

Shooting her an exasperated look, he turned back to the road. “So you never, ever kissed someone when you ‘shouldn’t’?”

“That’s... totally not the point,” she countered, keeping her eyes fixed on the pools of light created by the car’s headlights, not speaking again until he politely inquired about their investigations into the Kungai’s background, a topic which kept them occupied until they reached her flat.

And Dawn’s face when she saw him almost made up for all the previous awkwardness.

***

**Saturday 15th of May. Evening.**

The Immortal had declared the evening a non-negotiable night in, but she still wasn’t prepared for him turning up at her door in a T-shirt, jeans and a battered leather jacket, Andrew in tow, the trainee Watcher’s arms laden with cheap takeaway boxes. 

“I just got rid of him,” she said, gloomily, but The Immortal just shrugged. “I needed someone to carry the food. And he can take notes.”

“Notes?” she asked, feeling progressively stupider by the second, and then wrinkled her nose.

“And why are we having rubbish food?”

Whenever he came round he tended to bring something from his own kitchen, and Buffy was beginning to seriously worry about what she’d eat once he was gone.

“It’s Eurovision tonight,” he replied brightly, as if this answered both questions, and she threw her hands up. 

“OK, what is this Eurovision thingy? And why does it necessitate-” She stopped abruptly. 

“_What_ are you doing to my TV?”

He’d started unplugging and reconnecting cables, before adding a mysterious box that he pulled out of his pocket.

“We need to watch it on the BBC - trust me, it’s not the same show without Terry Wogan. And... here we are!”

The TV sprang back to life, except apparently she was now stealing cable, or satellite or... something. 

“Immortal - _please_. Come here, sit down, explain from the start. Why do I want to waste my evening on this?”

He turned, eyebrows raised to comical heights. “Waste? It’s not a waste! It’s part of your cultural education. When in Rome...”

Despite herself she laughed, and he did as he was told, settling down and pulling her close.

“OK. The Eurovision Song Contest has been around since... 1956. It’s very simple - every country provides a song of some kind, people all over Europe vote and the winning country hosts next year’s event. Now the _reason_ you should watch - apart from the fact that it’s fun - is that it will in one night teach you more about Europe than months’ worth of studying. Plus, the next time a European starts going on about they are culturally superior to America, all you need to do is say ‘Eurovision’ and they’ll shut right the hell up! Trust me - it’s kitsch and camp and fabulous - which is why we need the rubbish food to go with it. Also Francesca has everyone working overtime on tomorrow’s feast, so I figured this would be easier.”

Realising that she’d get no say in the matter, Buffy settled down to watch, grabbing some chicken wings and a coke, and telling her brain firmly to switch off.

The show was certainly entertaining, but it wasn’t until the 10th entry that she began to feel like she’d fallen into a parallel world. 

“What’s with the Xena look?” she asked, boggling, but The Immortal waved away her complaint, eyes glued to the screen.

“Who cares? _That_ is amazing!”

“But she can’t sing!”

“She’s a hot chick in skimpy leather. She doesn’t _need_ to be able to sing. You’re missing the whole point of this.”

At least she was widening her horizons she supposed. Ukraine had until then never made her think of proto-Slayers rocking the stone age look.

By the time they reached the Russian entry, she felt it superfluous to ask why the pretty young female singer was using four primary coloured, half-naked hunks for sitting on... 

The Greek singer was cute though, and had _very_ nice arms.

“Hear! Hear!” The Immortal agreed immediately. “You know, he actually reminds me of-”

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘Ermanno Mancini’ I’m throwing you out of the window. _Without_ opening it.”

“Why do I always end up with the violent ones?” The Immortal muttered to himself, but sadly didn’t elaborate.

During the voting she nearly fell asleep, unlike Andrew who had clearly discovered a new obsession. But finally Ruslana, with her wild cavemen dance, won, which meant that Buffy could kick Andrew out and snuggle into The Immortal’s arms once more, relishing the sensation of uncomplicated peace.

The Immortal was flicking through the gazillion and one channels she now had, too fast for her to follow, so instead she let her hand rest on his chest, watching as it rose and fell with every breath, and feeling the slow steady thump of his heart. Lifting her face she looked at him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” 

“How did you become immortal?”

He looked back, features passive and blank, and, before he could shake his head, she pleaded.

“I promise not tell anyone, ever!”

For a long moment he didn’t move, and then his mouth quirked a little.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, ha, ha. Very funny. Sorry I asked.”

“I’m not joking.”

She stared, taking in the calmness of his features and trying her best to read something into the lack of emotion. “How - how can you _not know_? Did you just wake up one morning immortal?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Seeing the look on her face he smiled a little. “I know _when_. Just not _how_.” 

His eyes took on that faraway, but cautious, look that was always present when he talked about his past.

“There was... an apocalypse. As usual. The hero I was travelling with was busy getting his last minute plan up and running, so I rounded up a group of brave souls to help hold the bad guys back for a few moments. It was suicidal, but better to go out fighting than be slaughtered. I was the last man standing and then - they killed me too. Next thing I remember I woke up, and all the bad guys were dust - _literally_. Which... is just not possible. Anyway, I got my bearings, ran off to find my hero... and arrived just in time to see him leaving. Without me.”

His voice trailed off momentarily, an oddly lost look in his eyes.

“I’ve been looking for him ever since, because he _has_ to know what happened. And there’s no one else who can-”

Whatever he was going to say was lost as he abruptly stopped. Realising that this was all she was getting, Buffy turned his extraordinary story over in her head.

“But if you’ve been trying to find him all this time... he can’t be human, right?”

At that he laughed. “Oh no, he’s not human. He’s... he’s so much more. The things he can do... it’s out of this world.”

She sat still for a moment, hearing the intense longing and hope hidden in his voice, and wondered just how long he’d been waiting.

“I hope you find him,” she said finally, and he smiled. 

“Thank you. Now... how about we try to dress _you_ up in leather?”

***

**Sunday 16th of May. Evening.**

Buffy clearly didn’t cope well with waiting, unnecessarily adjusting her tiara for the fifth time.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asked, as she once more tucked her arm under his.

“Like Cinderella,” she replied, brushing non-existent fluff off the blue ball gown. “You are absolutely sure this dress isn’t bewitched?”

He shot her a look, and she sighed. “I don’t like waiting. Aren’t they ready yet?”

“Relax,” he replied, patting her hand and yet again trailing his eyes over her. The Cinderella look suited her immensely well, he readily admitted. Just as much as Prince Charming fitted him. He’d thought Caesar and Cleopatra when he’d first started planning this ball, but somehow that had segued into fairy tale land when deciding on who to dress up as... 

And to give her this filled him with true pleasure. Every girl in the world wanted to be a princess, to play that role just once, and tonight he was making that dream reality.

Then Vittore appeared, nodding his greying head silently as their eyes met, before throwing the large double doors open, revealing the ball room filled to overflowing with people of every species under the sun, all decked out in fantastical costumes. It was like a glittering kaleidoscope of light and colour, blinding and fantastical.

“Presenting your most distinguished hosts for tonight: The Immortal and the renowned Vampire Slayer, Miss Buffy Summers.” 

Meeting Buffy’s eyes, Jack saw pure delight reflected back, and stopped for just a second to savour the moment. 

“Shall we?” he asked, and she nodded, gripping his arm more tightly.

Mere moments later they were in the middle of the dance floor, the band striking up a waltz, and Jack bowed, waited for her curtsy, and then accepted her hand and her waist, before, with a tiny nod, starting off.

_One_, two, three. _One_, two, three...

It was perfect, right down to the last detail. Lavish and over the top, but _perfect_. And the best escape from reality he’d yet found... 

Here there were no ugly deaths on rain-slick streets; no damaged, too-brief lives; no uncertain terror hanging in the air. There were only hopes and dreams, and it felt possible - even _plausible_ \- that there’d suddenly be two gatecrashers, in clothing entirely inappropriate to the occasion, curiously taking in the surroundings and suddenly spotting their old travelling companion...

If he kept throwing parties until the end of the world, surely one day they’d show up?

“What are you thinking about?” Buffy asked, and he answered without thinking.

“People I lost.”

Head catching up he looked at her apologetically.

“Sorry - that didn’t fit the script, did it?”

She smiled softly, eyes full of understanding. “’S all right. Me too.”

He smiled gratefully and then pulled her closer again, letting the easy flow of the music carry them away. 

He’d known and loved so many people, but this was... different. The serendipity of him and her was utterly unique.

_She_ \- the last great warrior of an ancient line, saving the world from the final threat from a dark past, and _he_ \- a soldier from days still to come, helping arm humanity against the dangers of the future: The two of them coming together for the briefest of moments in the midst of change; time standing still around them as they danced the eternal dance of men and women in any time or place.

And at that moment he was intensely grateful for the life he had been given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A picture of [John Barroman dragged up for La Cage Aux Folles.](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/elisi/4713981/530849/530849_600.jpg) I can’t even. Just _look_ at those legs!
> 
> And [here he is](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdSszlp8aVQ), talking about, and then performing, ‘I Am What I Am’. (Not in drag though, sadly.)
> 
> For those readers unfortunate enough to be as unfamiliar with Eurovision as Buffy, here is the 2004 winning entry, from Ukraine: [Ruslana - Wild Dance](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=48XfMRxp6IM) for you, in case you’re curious. ENJOY! (I know Graham Norton is now _the_ presenter, but he took over from Terry Wogan, who did the gig for 37 years, and is still the benchmark against which everyone else is held. ([19 Eurovision Moments To Remember Terry Wogan By.](https://www.buzzfeed.com/scottybryan/can-we-please-watch-the-commercials)) 
> 
> Although I am unable to talk about Eurovision without mentioning THE Eurovision performance: [Verka Serduchka - Dancing Lasha Tumbai](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfjHJneVonE) (Ukraine, 2007)
> 
> The BEST Eurovision song of all time is of course [Alexander Rybak - Fairytale](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXwgZL4zx9o) (Norway, 2009)
> 
> My headcanon is that Buffy watches Eurovision religiously every year.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end...

_Lindsey (to Angel): This is gonna be a circus. I mean, win or lose, you're about to pick the nastiest fight since mankind drop-kicked the last demon out of this dimension. _

**Thursday 20th of May, predawn.**

Radiating smugness was a good look for Buffy, Jack thought, watching her saunter into his largest sitting room as though she owned the place. Of course _most_ looks suited her, most especially Fighting Nasty Things Whilst Wearing Very Tight Leather Trousers, which tonight had been all about.

Tucking her stake into a pocket she smirked at him, and he grinned back.

“OK, you win. _That_ was brilliant. I should have come patrolling with you every night, and I have been a fool for saying no until now. Although... I really ought to have brought a camera to... uh... preserve your valiant efforts for posterity.”

Her only response was to raise an eyebrow - eloquently communicating that she knew _exactly_ what he’d use such a tape for, and his grin deepened. 

“Sorry Princess, but there’s not a man alive in the world who wouldn’t find you hot when you fight. You give Sex on Legs a whole new meaning.”

She pretended not to care about the compliment, but he knew her well enough by now to catch the twinkle in her eyes... Oh it had been a night well spent, even though they were both pretty knackered and shagged-out now. 

Then there was a muffed bleating, and Buffy dug through her pockets until she discovered where she had hidden her mobile. Lifting it to her ear she shot him an exasperated look, and he mimed ‘Do you want me to leave?’ to which she shook her head vehemently. Smiling, he couldn’t help anticipating the verbal dressing-down that would surely follow.

But the expression on her face swiftly changed to alarm and deep concentration, as she listened intently, nodding now and again.

“OK... Thank you, Giles. Yes, I’m on my way... Andrew’s getting tickets?... Good... Yeah, OK. Bye.”

Ending the call she slowly lifted her eyes, and it was as if a different woman was looking back at him.

“That was Giles. He... he said that something’s happened in LA. They only have very preliminary reports, but the Wolfram & Hart building has pretty much collapsed and there’s apparently some kind of battle going on, and they can’t get hold of any of Angel’s team...”

Thinking as swiftly as he could, Jack held up a hand. “Just... hang on. I’ll see if I can get an inside word.”

Pulling out his own phone he called up Ilona’s office, getting hold of her PA who was apparently having a nervous breakdown. Jack wished he could kick him, although he was sure Ilona’s ire would be far more substantial. (If he ever managed to find a suitable PA of his own, s/he/they would have to be made of sterner stuff, that was for sure).

“Listen, you little waste of space - get me Ilona on the line _now_, or I’ll lock you up in the Room of Pain for the next century, understood!”

But Ilona (sounding thoroughly shaken for the first time he could remember) didn’t have much to tell him either, except to confirm his initial suspicions. 

Having said goodbye, he looked at Buffy again.

“Trojan Horse.”

“What?”

Her eyes, so wide and worried... and there was nothing he could do to soothe her. Quite the opposite in fact.

“Angel. His whole CEO thing... it would appear to have been a Trojan Horse affair. He’s done something... something really, _really_ big to injure the Senior Partners. He’s been... what’s the term? Fighting from inside the belly of the beast.”

“But - but that means- I told him I didn’t trust him...” 

He could see the sudden realisation, her distress at having misjudged so badly, and he reached out and took hold of her arms, forcing her to look up at him.

“Listen, it was the _only_ thing you could have done. If you’d been friendly, it would have been suspicious, understood?” He had to fight not to shake her to prove his point. 

“_Buffy_. Don’t beat yourself up, promise me. He wouldn’t have wanted that.”

She nodded, and he hoped that his words got through - the last thing she needed was to start blaming herself for whatever foolhardy and suicidal mission Angel had chosen for himself.

For a moment there was silence, then she slowly shook her head.

“I’m going to be too late,” she whispered, eyes haunted, and he reached up and brushed a lock off her face, his memory playing out a scene he wished he could forget.

_New Year, dead bodies, incomprehension and despair and ‘My gift to you Jack’..._

“Sometimes,” he said, trying his best to keep his voice level, but not succeeding entirely, “sometimes all you can do is pick up the pieces...”

And it wasn’t _fair_, when it was someone else who had broken things - leaving you with only blood and pain and memories and ‘if only’s. He dearly, dearly wished she could have been spared this. 

She nodded, softly, before pulling herself together before his eyes. The lost, distressed girl metamorphosed into The Slayer, ready for dealing with anything. There was no mask, no deliberate detachment - the steely determination and bravery were quite simply part of who she was: She’d been through crucibles and come out _stronger_. He wanted to be her so badly it hurt.

“I have to go - Andrew is sorting out plane tickets for us...”

“Do you want a lift?” he asked, wishing for something - anything - he could do to help, but she shook her head.

“My moped is still here, I’ll be fine.”

“OK.”

They stood still for a moment, his hand still on her arm, but she didn’t move.

“I... I don’t know how long I’ll be... Will you still be here when I come back?”

He shook his head.

“No. I’m all done - should have left already, actually, but...” he didn’t quite know how to continue, figuring that she’d probably know what he meant.

“So this is goodbye?” her eyes were huge and dark, and he nodded, before letting go of her and taking half a step back, catching her hand and lifting it to his lips for a solemn kiss.

“Miss Summers - it has been an honour.”

She suddenly looked as if she was about to burst into tears, biting her lip and swallowing. Then she grabbed hold of him, pulling him down and capturing his mouth with her own.

The kiss was deep, almost desperate in its bright intensity... like kissing sunshine, he thought dimly, falling into her for the last time. 

When she finally pulled away, breathless, she took a shaky breath, looking deep into his eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you... for _everything_.”

Then she turned abruptly and ran, leaving him to listen to her footsteps echo through the house before the large front door opened and then shut.

And she was gone.

“Thank _you_”, he whispered, before slowly sinking down onto the sofa, staring into nothingness.

He’d known it would end - the fact that it would end was a large part of what had made it work. But the ending wasn’t supposed to go like this...

_Damn_ Angel. For the first time he felt true anger when thinking about the vampire. Which was ironic since by now the other was probably dust. Along with Spike...

Taking a deep breath he let his head fall back, wondering if he’d ever learn to stay out of other people’s affairs. Wrestling with the dilemma of telling Buffy or not - to respect her right to know versus Spike’s right to silence; weighing the pain of a relationship with an immortal against a love lost - he’d not really stopped to think that he shouldn’t have stuck his nose where it didn’t belong in the first place. 

The lesson was clear: Don’t get involved. Don’t ask questions. Because once you knew, you were implicated - if Buffy ever discovered that he’d kept Spike’s return from her she’d be furious, and rightly so.

Well, maybe it was for the best that they’d never meet again. She’d always been out of his league, all he could hope for was that she never discovered just how far. 

He sighed, and got to his feet. 

Walking through the house he said a silent farewell, although without his golden girl around it felt dead already. Standing in the ballroom he recalled Buffy’s friendly hostility just a couple of months ago; her radiance a few days before... As he watched, the first rays of morning light filtered through the windows, and he sighed. Fairy tales never survived the harsh light of day.

He ended up in his office, as always, settling into the chair and pulling the wrist strap out from a drawer and fastening it. Time to be Torchwood again. 

It felt like a prison sentence... Or maybe more like being a jailer? After all he was in charge now.

Leaning back in the chair he studied the portrait on the wall. This was how they saw him, he knew. Handsome, ageless, mysterious... had anyone other than Buffy ever begun to understand that the image on the wall was as impenetrable to himself as to anyone else? 

What lay behind the charming, carefree, mirror-familiar smile? Would future-he finally get things right (be _free_), or had the mask finally hardened completely? In some ways he felt as lost as he had the first time he came here - his future self had kept all his cards held tight to his chest.

He shuddered slightly and got up. He’d miss this place, but it had never been home, just somewhere to lose himself until he regained some strength... 

And he knew this time he wouldn’t be coming back. Over the last few weeks he had carefully stored every detail he would need on the wrist strap’s database, for when he’d set the whole thing up one day (his future, their past...). Sometimes time travel was a bitch, but he still felt affection for the lost young man he’d been when he’d first been hailed by Antonio all those years ago...

‘Enjoy the alias’ indeed. Although ‘Grasp the refuge’ would really have been more appropriate.

A swift goodbye to the servants with no promised date of return was all that was left. ‘The Immortal’ would slowly fade away into myth, origin and fate as obscure as each other. 

As an ending he thought it rather fitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue still to come... (And then stand-alones/tie-ins, and then the sequel.)


	17. Epilogue

_Jack: Just gotta ask. The Battle of Canary Wharf. I saw the list of the dead. It said Rose Tyler._

**Cardiff. Monday 31st of July, 2006. Morning.**

“Your coffee, Sir.”

And with immaculate precision a mug was placed in from of him. Jack smiled deeply with pleasure and looked up at the young man standing by his side.

“_Thank_ you, Ianto.”

A brief incline of the head was the only response before the other moved on with his tray - even Vittore couldn’t have bettered the polite servility.

Sipping his drink, Jack smiled. His own butler at Torchwood, who’d have thought? 

Certainly not Suzie...

“I _know_ that he’s very pretty, Jack, but he _was_ stalking you. I thought you were going to wipe his mind and throw him out of town if he didn’t stop.”

“True. But that was _before_ he caught a pterodactyl.”

It was only once in a blue moon that he got to see Suzie speechless, so he had relished the sight immensely, before taking her arm and showing off their new pet. 

Looking through the Hub he could see her now, busy trying to somehow tame the beast. Which left him to admire his newest acquisition as he silently and efficiently moved around.

To Jack’s surprise - and, if he was honest, somewhat disappointment - the flirting had ceased the second Ianto had turned up for work. Which meant that Jack had (maybe) only been a means to an end - and why would Ianto Jones want to come here?

Well... why was he here himself? Why were any of them here? Torchwood guaranteed death and misery, and yet once you knew what was out there, it was impossible to live in the normal world. At least Ianto had no illusions... 

Also, since Jack _hadn’t_ hired the boy for his looks, it might be prudent not to pursue him too eagerly - not to mention the ‘he-just-lost-his-girlfriend-in-hugely-traumatic-circumstances’ part. Jack didn’t want to appear insensitive.

Still, there could be no harm in low-level flirting, right? Just making sure that if Ianto ever felt the need for a pleasurable distraction, he’d know where to find it. (Although so far he had shown none of Owen’s tendency to drink and shag his way out of heartbreak, which, quite frankly, was a relief.) And it’d help keep the boy in his mind - Ianto had in no time at all mastered a butler’s eternal art of disappearing into the background, and Jack had more than a century’s worth of practice in taking the ‘help’ for granted.

As he drained the mug a document of some sort was placed before him. Looking up he saw Ianto already moving away - heading down to the archives as far as he could tell.

Frowning he looked more closely at the cover, then nodded softly.

The official list of the dead for the Canary Wharf Battle. They’d be lucky if they saw their Mr Jones at all for the rest of the day.

Letting the sheets of paper sift through his hands he quickly found the page. And there she was: Lisa Hallet. Just a few names above Yvonne Hartman... 

How often had he warned her? Telling her in no uncertain terms that they were messing with something they didn’t understand and that it could destroy them?

Being proved right was no consolation, the thousands of names in the report were far too painful for that. Absentmindedly he glanced through the pages upon pages of names... so many ordinary people caught up in the slaughter. And then he froze.

_Rose Tyler._

And right above was her mother’s name... 

No, it had to be a coincidence. There were probably _lots_ of Rose Tylers in London. Hands stuttering on the keyboard he brought up her official file - but it had the same information. As did Jackie’s.

Every single thing he tried, every contact or number he could think of... it all pointed towards the same impossible, yet inescapable, conclusion.

Resting his head in hands he fought against sudden nausea. 

His Rose, killed by cybermen. Killed, he hoped. The thought of her having been converted... No, he couldn’t begin to come to terms with the idea. Death was difficult enough without having to contemplate.... _that._

Cybermen were going straight to the top of his personal hate-list. He’d waited so long - so _fucking long_ \- and now she’d been stolen from him, just when he could almost touch freedom again. He’d _died_ for her...

Unbidden he recalled another golden girl, not as innocent but certainly as brave - another one who’d danced with him as he pretended to be more than he was.

Where was she now? Was _she_ still alive? Her weapons would have been useless against the steel...

With sudden urgency (although he knew it was a survival instinct, turning to those who might be saved when others were lost) he looked through his desk drawers until he found his Immortal mobile. A swift battery change later and he was pulling on his coat, slipping the phone into his pocket as he headed for the invisible lift.

“Going out,” he said, Tosh giving him an absent smile, absorbed as she was in her work. Owen (_still_ on his coffee break) opened his mouth to ask for something, and then closed it again when seeing Jack’s face. The man apparently _did_ have a spark of self-preservation - who’d have thought. Suzie didn’t even look up.

Emerging onto the Plass, Jack barely noticed the grey sky and low hanging clouds over the Bay. Making his way out along the pier, he pulled out the phone, taking in a whole pile of missed calls and messages - all from Buffy.

What could they be? Anger at his deception? Or news? He wasn’t sure he could cope with bad news... much less happy ones.

And there was the whole Schrödinger’s Vampire situation to consider too. He’d avoided any contact - had resisted even the tiniest peek at anything related to her world - because that way he wouldn’t know for sure that her vampires were dust. Could fool himself into thinking that maybe one or other (or both? That might change her view on threesomes) had made it out alive, and that she was now happily settled in Slayer-vampire-y bliss... 

He _still_ didn’t want to know, which meant that conversation would be tricky. On the plus side he was good at talking.

Choosing the most recent call (it was a UK number - had she moved? Maybe... maybe she just travelled more these days) he pressed return and lifted the phone to his ear, waiting.

After a few rings - result.

There was the tiniest pause, then he heard a tentatively hopeful “Immortal?”, and closed his eyes in relief. She was OK. 

“Yes, it’s me. Buffy-”

“Where are you? What have you been doing? What-”

“Buffy! Please... just...”

He stopped and swallowed, unable to rid himself of the image of the ruin that had once been Torchwood One.

“...tell me about heaven?”

There was another pause, then softly...

“Did you lose someone?”

Relief at her instinctive understanding flooded through him in waves. He’d missed that _so_ much.

“Yes,” he whispered, tears finally burning behind his eyelids. 

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said, somewhat helplessly, because there was never anything that could be said at times like these.

“Thank you,” he replied - then realised that maybe _this_ was why he’d called.

“No really. Not just for this, for... for everything. Not just all the fun parts. But... for showing me that there are people out there who can do this job without compromises - who can come out whole.”

(Unlike himself or his brilliant, but hopelessly damaged, team.)

For what seemed like the millionth time he wished that things were different. Or more precisely that _he_ was different. That he had anything to offer someone like her... 

Which of course he didn’t. 

“Immortal-” she began, but he cut her off.

“Buffy, can you promise me something?”

He could quite clearly picture the unsure frown on her face.

“Um, sure. What?”

“_Get out_. You’ve done more than your share, get out before it takes everything away. You can’t trust the future to provide, live _now_. Oh, and don’t die again until you’re old and grey and surrounded by cute grandchildren. Please? For me?”

Before she could respond he ended the call.

***

**London, the new Council.**

The sudden disconnect made Buffy pull the phone away from her ear and stare at it, waiting for a moment to see if he’d call back, then tried to return the call - neither approach getting any results.

Of ‘Unexpected Calls Out Of The Blue’ this one came pretty high on the list. Although when seeing who the caller was, she’d half expected a cheeky: “So tell me, Princess, what are you wearing?” 

But no such luck.

Looking up she saw Dawn studying her, with ‘Go on - _tell!’_ written all over her face.

“Um... that was The Immortal,” she said, and Dawn looked impatient.

“I got that. And...?”

“I... don’t know. He sounded...” She turned the phone over in her hands.

“Well if it was anyone else, I’d have said they sounded suicidal. But with him...” she sighed.

“He lost someone he loves, but obviously he can’t actually _talk_ about it, because that would mean _opening up_ to someone, instead of curling up into a ball of broody angst. And OK, I’ve been there, done that, but I got over it, y’know? What _is_ it with men - especially the immortal variety - that they can’t see that sharing _helps_?”

Dawn shrugged her slim shoulders. “I don’t think they can help it. They haven’t got logical minds.”

Trying to suppress a smile, Buffy shook her head.

“You are wise beyond your years.”

“Pft! Once you’ve got a few millennia of being a shiny ball of energy under your belt, life is pretty straightforward. Seriously, he didn’t say anything?”

“No... If only I could speak to him face to face - sometimes he slips up and says more than he means to.” 

“We could try a locator spell... again...” Dawn said uncertainly, and Buffy sighed.

“Because we haven’t set enough maps on fire yet. No, there’s no point. I... guess I’ll just have to leave him to it, whatever _it_ is. And anyway...” she smiled wryly, “it’s not like I haven’t got my hands full already.”

Then one of the secretaries opened the door, inquiring after Dawn’s latest translation, and her little sister’s attention was abruptly diverted.

Turning her eyes back to the phone, since that was the nearest thing she had to her elusive ex-lover, Buffy softly shook her head.

“Good luck, my Immortal. I hope one day you find what you need, whatever that might be.”

***

After switching off the phone, Jack stood still for a moment. Then, before he could change his mind, he hurled it out into the Bay, watching it hit the water and then vanish, causing barely a ripple in the choppy water.

He wouldn’t need it again. 

His waiting was nearly at an end, although his planned escape would no longer include the reunion he had most longed for. At least everything else was ready - he even had his own ‘Doctor-detector’ now. And Suzie had proven herself a more than capable leader - all he had to do was wait for that elusive blue box...

As he stood there the first few drops began to fall, the clouds finally fulfilling their promise, and he pulled the coat closer as the rain swiftly intensified. 

It was cold and wet and dark. Yesterday, today, tomorrow - always the same. But Jack had long ago stopped hoping that it might kill him.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, before you start shouting at me (I didn’t fix anything, I just made it _worse_), please allow me to explain...
> 
> First and foremost, I always wanted this fic to fit in seamlessly with canon (both sets), and BtVS/AtS very obligingly ended in 2004, allowing me to set the entire story pre-S1 of Torchwood. Which means that my aim was always to bring Jack up to where we first meet him [again] in ‘Everything Changes’. For those of you not very familiar with Torchwood, S1 is (most of the time) relentlessly bleak, and Jack is depressed, withdrawn and grimly ruthless. (**obfreak**’s excellent [Behind Blue Eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imSGMwekGrc) sums him up perfectly - I can’t count the number of times I’ve watched it.) Now in the light of this there is obviously a slight problem with giving Jack a fabulous alias with every luxury that money can buy and a fling with Buffy on top. So, I tried my best to weave the two sides together, which, unfortunately, meant that despite all the fun, Buffy could never give Jack any lasting support. (Partly because he refused it, of course, since like a good immortal hero he is incapable of opening up to anyone emotionally.)
> 
> Oh and I totally think the reason he hires Gwen is because he sees in her a lot of the moral certainty that Buffy has - something to combat his own cynicism.
> 
> To follow: A few stand-alones (including a very silly AU story) and then the sequel, which is more of an interconnected series of one-shots (rather than one long story, like this was), filling in blanks throughout the series, up to, and including, Children of Earth. 
> 
> Mostly thank you all SO MUCH for reading, and sticking with this near-endless behemoth of a fic!


End file.
